Fate Hurts
by callmecrazy83
Summary: Post S1 Finale. Peter Petrelli must learn to deal with his powers, his friends and family, a new hero, and maybe fate. What could possibly go wrong? Also about fathers and children. Character study w/ action. Chap. 14: What made Grace leave Gabriel
1. Chapter 1

As always, these characters are not mine, and I make no money from this.

Peter Petrelli was staring at the large metal shackles on his wrist again. He knew that he could break them, tear them off and leave whatever horrific place this was that the masked man had brought him to at least two weeks ago. He could but she couldn't.

Claire.

Just after being beaten for the first time, and the blood dried and the bruises turned to shadows then skin, the other man had sat down across the table from Peter dead eyed. "I want you to know that I know you can escape any time Mr. Petrelli. In fact your lack of effort thus far can only be seen as a disappointment. But oh well, they said you weren't much of a typical fighter yet."

Peter didn't know what to say, so he just stared at the man deeply while he popped his shoulder back into place.

"But all the same, I think some precautions are necessary." He roughly reached across the table and began to put an IV into Peter's hand. "The first precaution is this IV, it will make you, let's say, a little more docile for us. A normal person would only need a daily injection, but you, you aren't normal. No," the man said, tapping the table between them on every syllable, "you are not. But really, that's how you're here."

"Oh really? Why's that?"

The man in an honor movie at this point would have grinned and explained his diabolical plot. But the man sitting across from Peter simply shrugged and with no facial expression said, "I'm curious about how things work."

Peter could feel the hope in his heart begin to unravel into shreds. "What other precautions are you taking?"

The man smiled, and his front teeth were so big and white they might even be termed buck. "You're niece, she's very beautiful."

"No."

"I think she knows it too. It's so hard for girls to be confident in their bodies at her age, but I just get a feeling she is. That's important to her development as a young woman."

Peter wanted to rage over the table at the man, but whatever was in the IV made his blood turn into cement. "What have you done?"

"Nothing so far. But read my mind. You can do that right?" Peter nodded. "Read it so you know I'm not lying. I have constructed a plan to kill Claire. If you try to leave us before I am ready for you to leave, then, well, I will implement my plan. Understood?" Peter nodded again. He had been inside the man's dark mind. He wasn't lying. "Excellent." The man got up and left.

Peter chose to not think about the experiments, the interviews, the isolation, of the last two weeks. Instead he stared at the shackle on one wrist and ignored the IV on his other hand. He'd also stopped thinking about rescue or escape and wondered how he could end looking on the bright side so fast. Maybe sleep would help. He lay his head down again on the cold linoleum floor and closed his eyes. And just as he fell asleep, as exhaustion stole away the overhead lights, he heard a distinct female voice in his head.

_"Hold on Peter, we're coming."_

_To Be Continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

_Two Notes:_

_First: Thank you for the kind reviews. It's nice to know someone likes what I write._

_Second: I am a teacher trying to finish the end of the school year with grading and everything. I write to save myself from 150 "Romeo and Juliet" essays. Updates will come when I can grade no more._

He was operating on Peter again. The man was in favor of extraordinary clean scalpels that glinted fresh under the lights. Before he touched the skin, Peter spoke up, the same request, "Me, not Claire."

"You, not Claire." The man began to cut from just below the neck, but stopped just before the ribs. "I wonder why it is that you care so much about her. You barely know her."

Peter stared up at the ceiling, feeling a line of blood run down his side to pool on the table. "She's so young. Too young for this. Besides, she's my family. That's all the reason I need to care."

The man stopped everything for a moment, even resting his blade laden hand down. "That is very noble, Mr. Petrelli. It really is. I was like you once." At this point the man leaned forward so he could look at Peter square in the face. "Cared. Felt love. But I know better now. I have a feeling you will learn it too, some day. Family is not a qualification for love and certainly not respect." For a moment they stayed staring at each other, and for a second Peter thought he recognized something in the man's face something familiar. But then the man sat back away from Peter's line of vision, and continued with his work.

Today, as before, the man seemed very interested in Peter's heart, how quickly it would beat, how soon it's send his special blood back coursing through his veins to heal. If Peter could remove himself from the situation, he might liken the man's fascination to a child endlessly watching a hamster run on a wheel. Over and over. Round and round.

But Peter could not entirely remove himself. It was ironic that while he could heal himself, there was still pain involved. Claire seemed to have less pain, and why he hadn't gained the same ability was a mystery. With the surgery, the first part was the worst, the initial splitting of things. Peter always bore down on his restraints during that time, almost popping the IV from his hand. As the man stared at his open chest Peter finally let a few tears slip from his eye. He felt ashamed, and thought that maybe he wasn't supposed to be a hero. Maybe he was something much smaller, and much worse.

_No._

The voice. It was back again. Peter recognized now that it was female. He looked around the room. It was empty.

_Peter._

How did she know his name?

_Need to hold on Peter. We're coming._

The voice was very calming. Peter thought he was going insane. Another tear escaped from the corner of his eye. "Can't." He didn't even realize he's said it out loud. The man operating looked over then away, deciding it was nothing.

_Yes you can._

Peter stared at the ceiling. It was the old paneled kind, crack and white. Was it always going to be like this? The fight? He'd stopped the New York disaster, even though Sylar had disappeared after. The pain? There would always be something else. A possible rescue? Why?

_I don't know. But I'm here._

Another tear. "Hurts."

The man looked at Peter again, but Peter didn't notice.

_I know it hurts. But I'm here._ Then, incredibly, Peter felt a hand run through his hair. It was gentle and kind, and Peter's mouth involuntarily opened in a smile. He felt the hand again, and Peter shut his eyes. _I'm here._

"How did you do that?"

Peter's eyes snapped open. The man was again hovering above his face, scalpel in hand. "What?"

"Your hair it moved." He gestured at Peter's hair, and a drop of blood slid off the metal and splattered on his cheek. "How did you do that? Can you move stuff with your mind too?"

"No."

"Have you been keeping secrets from me? Lying?"

"No."

The man was livid. "Then how?"

Peter was getting woozy from loss of blood. "I don't know."

The man couldn't take it, and reared back to punch. The last thing Peter remembered before losing consciousness was the faint recognition of a hand on his own.

_To Be Continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

Here we go guys, next chapter. This one really sets up the rest of the story. Your feedback has been wonderful so far, especially knowing if I'm getting characterization right. So please keep it coming! Special thanks to… everyone! Expect the next chapter sometime this weekend at the earliest; it's going to a bit longer.

_…"Your hair it moved." He gestured at Peter's hair, and a drop of blood slid off the metal and splattered on his cheek. "How did you do that? Can you move stuff with your mind too?" _

_  
__"No."_

_  
__"Have you been keeping secrets from me? Lying?" _

_  
__"No." _

_  
__The man was livid. "Then how?" _

_Peter was getting woozy from loss of blood. "I don't know." __  
__The man couldn't take it, and reared back to punch. The last thing Peter remembered before losing consciousness was the faint recognition of a hand on his own… _

Over a hundred miles away, a pair of eyes snapped open. One was brilliant blue, the other emerald green. She'd felt the blow as if it had been her strapped to the table, and all she could hope was that Peter had felt a little better from her presence.

"Grace?" She turned toward the man. "Your eyes. They're bleeding again."

"I've told you before Mr. Bennett, my eyes don't bleed when I use my abilities, I just cry tears of blood sometimes from the stress, especially when I have to do work as intricate as this. My brain can handle things my body can't." Her tone was relaxed, but the men looking at her face, the contrast of bright red to pale skin, were still shaken. "Does anyone have a tissue maybe."

All three went for a search through their pockets. Hiro was the winner, and offered the prize with a small smile. "Does it hurt?"

Grace smiled at the gentle man and his concern. "No, doesn't hurt. I just don't have the control I want."

"Yet."

"What?"

"Yet. I said you don't have the control you want yet. I'm sure it will come."

She smiled, but before she could answer Mr. Bennet cut in, obviously annoyed at what he would found to be a silly conversation all things considered. "What were you able to find out?"

Grace removed the last bit of blood from her face. "Claire seems the same as before. Unconscious but not in pain. What ever device he has her hooked up to is large and effective, but uncomplicated. Dr. Suresh should still be able to get her out of there in the time frame we've established." Suresh nodded from across the room.

"And Peter?"

Grace sighed. "He's alive. Just…" she trailed off. "It's just, did any of you talk to him before all this? Like about how he was or anything?" The men shrugged, and she had to suppress the need to say 'typical.' Maybe it was her own ability that made her more considerate of others feelings. But really she suspected that as with a lot of people with abilities, these men were excellent at taking care of themselves and the greater picture, but often fell flat when it came to a personal connection, no matter how great the effort was. The men continued to stare at her blankly. "He's alive, so is she. But we need to move tomorrow as planned if we want them both to come out of this alive."

"I'm not sure," Suresh got up from the bed and began to pace. "I have confidence that what you're telling us is the truth, Miss…"

"Just Grace."

"Grace. Fine. Yes, if what you're telling us is true, then I can easily detach the device with Hiro's help in the four minutes you've suggested. A little longer would be nice, but, yes it can be done. And against him, no need to push our luck."

Hiro leaned over to Grace and whispered, "He always says everything that comes to his mind. It's weird." They smiled.

Suresh paused for a moment. "Are you sure that Nathan is out of the picture?"

Hiro nodded. "He refused to even speak about a plan. No way is he coming now. It's just us."

"Look," said Grace, "if you're worried about what you need to do tomorrow, we can talk about changing something."

"But my fear isn't in the plan, or rather in my side of it. It's yours. You just said your abilities, they can be overwhelming to your body."

"That's true, but…"

"And since you're getting Peter, who is already physically compromised, I have to wonder if you can accomplish our mission. You yourself have admitted your power over the physical universe is much more underdeveloped then your ability as a conduit. This person who has Peter and Claire. He is very, very powerful Grace."

"I know."

"How?"

Grace quickly changed the subject. "Look Dr. Suresh, I understand your concerns, but…"

"No, I don't really think you do. He once…"

Mr. Bennet, who had been sitting in a chair silently watching the exchange, quickly stood up. If Suresh knew the truth of why Grace was important, he probably wouldn't allow the plan to happen in the first place, too risky. And then Claire and Peter would be dead. "We don't all have to like our plan completely, but I believe we can all agree there are no other options. Alright? Why don't we all get some rest? We take our shot in the morning."

Suresh took another long glance at Grace, and she met his stare head on. He didn't trust her completely, but he trusted Bennet's judgment. Plus, he had to admit, there was no other way. "Fine then," was all he said before walking out of the room.

Hiro watched him go. He wanted to believe that everything would work out. He liked Grace, but, as he'd been told, he liked everyone. Future Hiro had been different, changed, and secretly Hiro hoped he could become strong, but not hard. He turned to reassure Grace of his confidence, but just as his mouth opened he realized that Suresh had the room key and probably wasn't above locking him out, and Hiro refused to teleport in for fear his roommate might be changing. Instead he offered and simple goodnight and a slam of the door.

Grace stuck behind with Bennet, who was sitting agitatedly on the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasping open and closed so tightly that they made popping sounds.

"You need to stop blaming yourself."

"You need to stop reading my mind."

"I wasn't," Grace said annoyed, but softened quickly, "I wasn't." There was silence in the room. "You must love Claire very much."

"I do. This is all my fault."

"No."

"It's too soon to let her go off on her own without protection. She wanted to go out of town for a weekend to go to an outlet mall and look what happened."

"And if you don't let an 18 year old have some freedom then she will get it the hard way and never come back. You can't protect her all the time. Look at Peter, he was just going for a drive and here he is."

"Peter can predict the future, and he couldn't see this?"

"From what you said he predicts events, not an entire life. No one can."

Mr. Bennet was getting frustrated. "I still shouldn't have let her go. The world isn't safe. For people like her. Us."

"You can't stop everything bad that happens to people like us. We have to keep going without an overwhelming fear of others."

"I doubt you actually believe that considering this life style hurt you so much, since you were a child." Mr. Bennet's overflow of emotions got the better of him, anger to be specific. He got up and got very close to Grace, who looked uncomfortable. "I wonder, why did you agree to come and help us?"

"I've told you that."

"Tell me again."

"You sought me out."

"And."

Grace squirmed. Her brain was twitching with all the emotions that Mr. Bennet was giving out. "I realize the gravity of the situation. I understand that I may be the only one who can cause enough surprise that we can accomplish this mission with such small force. And a personal reason. My reason."

"I'd like to know that reason."

"I'm sure you would."

"Yes. So tell me."

"No. And as long as we're asking questions, I'd like to know how you found me."

"I have my contacts still."

"Did you use my father."

"No."

"You're lying."

Mr. Bennet smiled and backed away a little, turning to look at the window. "Maybe I am. Or are you just so angry at the idea that he knows where you are and just doesn't stop by for a hug and hello that you don't want to believe that I haven't seen your father in years, just like you?" A lamp whipped across the room and smashed precariously close to Mr. Bennet's head. And as he turned around slowly he could see the gaudy wall paper begin to be torn to ribbons from the wall. "I see that you really don't have much control. Like father, like daughter."

"Don't. Please."

Mr. Bennet turned around completely and really looked at Grace. She wasn't that much older then Claire, early to mid-twenties maybe. Her hair was about the same length as Claire's too, but brown. And just like he could tell with his own child, Mr. Bennet knew he had pushed the wrong button. His face softened. "I know that because of who you are you have had to go through a lot of pain and sacrifice in your life."

Grace scoffed her voice rising to the point right before crying, "Please, don't lecture me on pain and sacrifice, Mr. Bennet."

"I'm not. I guess I'm just surprised and glad you agreed to this."

"Me too." The wallpaper stopped pealing. Grace took a step closer. "I have to believe in fate, Mr. Bennet. That everything happens for a reason. Or else everything that has happened to me is worthless."

Mr. Bennet nodded. "It sounds like you are looking for some answers. From what you said earlier, maybe Peter is too." Grace nodded, and hung her head. "Look, why don't you get some rest."

Grace nodded again, "After this Mr. Bennet, I might need some protection from him."

"Let me worry about that."

"Goodnight." And she left.

Mr. Bennet stayed up for a long time after Grace left, thinking about the little he knew about her past, how much he loved his own daughter, and how he doubted he would ever completely understand the choices Grace's father had made for his child. Finally convinced that he needed to sleep if he was going to help his own daughter properly, he closed his eyes.

"Rest up," Mr. Bennet told himself out loud, "tomorrow you're going to have to kick some ass."

_To Be Continued… _

_Look for a long, action filled chapter next… __  
__Find out who's been holding Claire and Peter, and why Grace knows him…_


	4. Chapter 4

_Well, I didn't get a lot of response to my last chapter, but I've decided to keep going. I like this story at least. Feedback is always needed and appreciated. Sometimes I bribe my students with candy. So who wants candy? Twizlers anyone?_

_Anyway, here are some answers. Enjoy!_

Mr. Bennet never really wanted to be a super hero. When he was a child his father seemed to enjoy debunking sci-fi for fun. Just as soon as the boy Bennet would become enraptured in a Saturday morning cartoon while laying on the carpet he'd hear behind him a sigh and rustle of the morning paper. "Now son, you know that's not an actual spaceship, right? You can see the wire right there. Plus, an advanced alien race would not make their spaceships round. If they can travel across the galaxy to eat our brains they can at least figure out the simple law of aerodynamics. It's silly. Turn the station."

No, Mr. Bennet had been raised a realist. It served him well. Many people, if thrust into a world of superpowers would lose themselves in the amazement and then give away all reality and common sense. But Mr. Bennet knew the truth, that anyone with a power was still a person, a human being with a skill, not a God. And as a human being they had the same capacity and responsibility to do good or evil.

And as Mr. Bennet sat in the van, watching Hiro, Grace, and Suresh teleport from the glare of his head lights into the near by abandoned office building, he for the first time prayed, prayed to God that he would see him daughter again, logic and feeble hope be damned.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As soon as Hiro felt the floor beneath his feet, he stopped the universe. It was getting easier and quicker to do so. He'd grit his teeth, eyes squeezed shut. _Stop, stop, stop_. And then, to his amazement still, it did.

They were in a room with no windows, probably an old office conference room. In the center was Claire, strapped to a table, IV running from one hand to an unmarked bag. Above her neck was a large saw, poised to fall on her neck. But Hiro knew that the true danger was in the man standing next to her, whom Suresh was inspecting closely. "Are you sure that's him?"

Grace, head encased in a black ski mask, placed a hand on his arm and was silent for a second then nodded. Without another word she left the room to look for Peter.

Suresh turned his attention back to Claire's prone form. "This is really ingenious, what he's done here," Suresh said, then paused. Hiro began to circle around the man. "He's managed to hook up Claire to detonated charges inside her body." Pause. The man was caught in an action figure pose, one leg and hand up. "Along with this device that would take off her head." Pause. His hand was clenched around something, thumb raised. "I guess the idea was that her body could only take so much trauma." Pause. There was a small button embedded in his hand. "And that she probably couldn't regenerate the head." Pause. The thumb moved. "You know I've always wondered if Claire's regeneration abilities came from her cellular structure," the thumb moved again, "or from commands from her brain. I wonder if he figured it out or if he was just making an educated guess." Pause. And then there was the scar that led from the button up his arm. A scar that went into his t-shirt, and peeked back out again on his chest, right about where the heart was. "Maybe I've underestimated Sylar. Maybe..."

"Dr. Suresh," Hiro cut in. "I think we have a problem."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Peter was collapsed on the floor, too tired to move from where he'd been dumped shortly before, one hand was chained to a wall, the other still painfully attached to the slowing IV. He remembered that his captor had him stand on a crate and ask questions, and there was an electrical cord of some kind, taken off his shirt…and after that he didn't choose to remember.

He was vaguely aware of the door opening. A year ago he might have tried to get up and say something witty against his assailant, but today he stayed on the floor motionless. He felt the person move closer and crouch next to him. They took out the IV and rubbed the small bruise left behind then started to shake his shoulder. "OK Peter, time to wake up."

That voice. He must be going insane. This was one of his captor's tricks. "No."

"Come on."

"You're not real. Crazy."

The person now paused and he heard clothing being removed, then there were hands on his face. Peter flinched, expecting to be slapped. But instead he felt thumbs make small tender circles on his cheeks. "It's going to be alright. You need to open your eyes." He did. Things were blurry at first, but then he saw her, and all he could look at were her eyes. One was very blue, the other green. "That's a start."

"Who…" He was still feeling groggy.

"Long story. I'm here to help. You need to wake up and melt off your cuff here."

"Claire…" Peter tried to sit up, and she gave him a hand.

"Will be fine. Hiro and Suresh are helping her. I don't have the key, and my powers don't work that way, so you need to fire up those nuclear hands of yours."

"Why aren't I absorbing your abilities?"

She pointed to the IV. "I think whatever is in your veins is slowing you down a bit. Besides, you don't want my abilities, and if everything works out you won't have to have them." She shook her head. "We're off track. I know you're tired Peter, but you need to concentrate and get that cuff off now." Peter strained and his hand began to glow. "I'm Grace, by the way."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"This isn't good." Suresh didn't respond. "This isn't good."

"I heard you the first time, and I'll thank you to not distract me."

Hiro paced. "His thumb, it's still moving."

"I've noticed. And there's nothing you can do about it?"

"No, he's just too powerful."

"Well, that's rather defeatist."

Hiro threw up his arms. "So, what do we do?"

"Shut up and let me work."

"I still don't get it."

Suresh sighed, scalpel in hand, deftly cutting away while he talked. "Sylar has placed detonators in Claire's body. We need to remove them. However, I can't do that here. And Sylar has himself rigged to Claire, and he's going to hit that button before I can finish. Then he dies, and so does she."

"So what do we do?"

Suresh nodded at Hiro's sword as he took an IV out of Claire's hand. "I need you to cut off his hand, then quickly grab both of us and transport out of here. Back at the truck I have enough materials to get out the device before Sylar bleeds out." Hiro paled. "Oh come on. I've seen you stab him straight through before. If you can do that, you can cut off an appendage." Suresh rolled Claire up to a sitting position, and she let out a gurgle that sounded vaguely like daddy. Hiro still stared at them blankly. "We don't have much time. You can come back for Grace and Peter later. Do it. Live up to your name and whatever else you need to hear."

Hiro turned and took out his sword at the same time. The blade went up and came down hard on the floor. Hiro watched entranced as the freshly detached hand playfully bounced on the floor. Sylar screamed, and Hiro looked back up. Now the rolls were reversed, Sylar, returned to his original face from the shock, moving and writhing in agony while Hiro was rooted to the spot only two steps away.

"Hiro!"

Nakamura snapped back to reality and tried to move, only to discover that his sword was stuck in the increasingly bloody linoleum.

What happen next went so fast that years later Hiro was still confused as to how exactly they got out alive.

Suresh and a barely walking Claire moved closer as Hiro tugged at his sword. Sylar, suddenly aware that his prized capture was about to escape used his one good hand to reach into his pants pocket. Out came a little needle. Sylar put it between his fingers and swung for Hiro's neck. The weapon made contact just as Hiro removed his sword and made physical contact with Suresh and Claire.

And suddenly Sylar was left alone, short handed, and angry.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The cuff was a pool of metal on the floor, but Peter was exhausted from the effort. He watched Grace with confusion as she put on her mask. "How are we getting out of here?"

Grace started to tug at his arm and Peter got to his knees then had to rest. "We are going to walk out the front door."

Peter shook his head. "This guy who has me, he won't let that happen."

Grace bent down and put his arm around her shoulders. "You don't know him like I do. I'm betting that just once we might get past." They stood up and Peter groaned in protest, feeling ashamed that he had to put most of his weight on Grace.

"Might?"

From another room they heard a deep male scream.

"Do you have a better idea?" Peter shook his head. "Look, we are going to start walking towards the door. If you start to feel better squeeze my shoulder to let me know that you can teleport us out. Deal?"

"How can I know to trust you? How do I know you're not going to take me right to him?"

Grace turned to look at him; their faces very close from having to hold him upright. "I don't like being touched, yet right now I don't even know you that well and we're practically hugging. We'll have to just trust each other."

They were able to shuffle out the door and into a small hallway without incident, and Peter could feel himself getting stronger ever so slowly. "I think I just need another minute."

Grace nodded, "Good."

They headed around the corner into a very long hallway, the outside door a beacon at the end. Peter smiled as they kept moving. One step. Two steps. They were going to make it.

Then farther down the hall a door blew open straight off it's hinges and crumpled on the floor. Peter cringed at his sight of his captor and the pair halted. Something was very wrong, however. The man was twisting and screaming and, to Peter's sly satisfaction, missing a hand. Blood was spattering everywhere, coving the walls in a horrific landscape. But suddenly he stopped moving and a look of uncommon cool turned toward Peter and Claire.

Peter finally recognized the man, and whispered, "Oh shit, it's Sylar."

"I know," Grace whispered back.

Sylar held up his good hand and it started to glow. Without emotion he brought his palm and stump together, and the smell of burning flesh filled the air. After a second he inspected his hand thoughtfully, as if saying that having only five fingers was better then ever having ten. Then he turned his attention to the two people clinging to one another at the end of the hall.

"Where do you think you're going?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They landed with a thud back in the van's headlights. Mr. Bennet was at Claire's side before the car door stopped swinging. Suresh was holding her upright carefully, and Hiro was passed out on the ground.

"What the hell happened in there? I heard screaming."

"I'll explain later. Help me get Claire into the van."

They were at the back doors. "What about Hiro?"

"I'll worry about him later."

They got inside and lay Claire on the floor. As Suresh gathered some medical supplies her eyes flitted open. "Dad?"

Mr. Bennet's heart soared. "It's going to be alright sweetheart, I'm here."

"What happened?"

"Shhhh, later." Suresh took a pair of scissors and began to cut off Claire's t-shirt much to Mr. Bennet's irritation. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry but Claire needs surgery right now if she wants to live."

Claire was brought back to reality instantly at the mention of that word. "I need what."

"You're abilities are weakened right now. There are charges right above your heart and at the base skull that could go off at anytime and kill you. They need to be removed immediately."

Claire nodded in astonishment. "OK, drug me up and let's go."

Suresh paused for a moment uncomfortably. "See that's the problem. I don't have any drugs here. You'll have to do without."

Claire sat up. "No."

"I'm so sorry Claire."

"You can't do this."

"I'm sorry. Hopefully your abilities will come back soon. But we absolutely cannot wait. "

Claire looked at her father with desperate eyes, and it took all off Mr. Bennet's strength to not look away. He put both hands on her shoulders and gently lay her on the floor. "It'll be alright honey."

Suresh finished removing Claire's top. "Please hold her down Mr. Bennet." He leaned over Claire. "I'd be lying if I said this wouldn't hurt. Right now you probably heal as well as a normal person. But I promise I will go as fast as I can. Don't resist passing out." Claire nodded.

Suresh took a deep breath and began.

Claire screamed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Peter felt frozen to the ground. They were dead meat.

"Keep walking." Grace whispered.

They took a step.

"Don't," Sylar called, removing a gun from the small of his back and pointing it at them. He felt a little weak from the loss of blood and realized that he probably couldn't move very fast. And when he tried to move at all, he found that something was holding him in place.

Another step. Sylar stared at them, the audacity.

"We're walking out of here Gabriel."

That voice. It couldn't be. "Take off your mask." Another step. Sylar cocked the gun. "Take off your mask or I shoot him."

Grace shifted and took the mask off. Sylar tried to not let the shock register on his face, but his gun wavered in its position. "Hello Grace."

"Hello Gabriel." She was crying tears of blood from one eye.

"That's not my name."

Another step. Sylar tried to throw the crumpled door at them, but as soon as it began to lift off the floor it was pushed back down. Grace's nose started to bleed. Peter was becoming very concerned. But he was also becoming stronger.

"It used to be your name."

"That was a long time ago." Sylar tried to throw or move everything around him, but was rejected each time.

"We're walking out of here Gabriel." Grace's nose was bleeding heavily, and her red tears flowed freely. Peter was now the supporter in their arm lock.

"No."

"You won't shoot me."

"Don't delude yourself that just because I once loved you that I won't kill you. Like I told you before you left, you aren't worth it." Another step. "You're weak."

Step. "If that were true, then why aren't Peter and I dead already, choked against that wall?" Sylar's eye twitched. "You still like to choke people, don't you Gabriel?"

They were maybe twenty feet from Sylar now, and Peter could feel his own powers ratcheting up higher and higher as Grace sagged lower. "Almost," he whispered.

Step. "If you're not the same man I knew, then you could at least admit that I'm not the same woman either."

Gabriel stared down the top of his gun at the two and laughed. "I'll admit, you're powers do appear stronger. But the real question is, are you good enough to catch a bullet?"

Grace raised her head to meet Sylar's gaze, a small trickle of blood running from the side of her smile. "Try me."

Sylar squeezed the trigger.

Peter squeezed Grace's shoulder.

Sylar was left alone.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hiro was just waking up from his tranquilized stupor when Peter and Grace were dumped back at the van's high beams and immediately collapsed in a heap. A second later Mr. Bennet came around from the back, gun raised in bloody hands. He relaxed when he recognized the two. "Oh thank God."

Grace got her feet unsteadily and began to try to walk away from the van. She got about five paces before collapsing and Peter was by her side. She shoved him. "No, go away."

"You're hurt."

Grace rose to her feet again and tried to walk, but crumpled. Peter caught her and gently laid her on the ground, one hand on her head, one on her waist. Grace shoved his arm. "Leave, now. You don't want my powers. Leave."

Peter looked down at his hands in the light of the car. They were covered in blood. He inspected Grace carefully; saw the glistening of her black top right under a breast. He hadn't been fast enough. "She's been shot." Mr. Bennet ran to get Suresh.

"Please Peter," her words were getting raspy, "leave me here. Save yourself my pain."

It was an easy choice for him. Peter shook his head and put pressure on Grace's wound. "No."

Suresh skittered to the ground next to them. "Let me see." It took him only an instant to know the truth. "The bullet collapsed her lung. She's lost too much blood. I don't think there's anything we can do."

Peter put his hand firmly back on Grace's stomach. "I'm so sorry."

"No," said Grace, "I am."

Peter smiled. "What for?"

Her eyes fluttered closed. "For this."

For Peter, gaining a power seemed to slow down time. He was watching Grace, when suddenly he became overwhelmed with her. He knew her favorite ice cream and books, how she got a scar, and the image of a beach. And he also felt her taking parts of him. He couldn't quite explain the feeling. A gateway, maybe. That gave Peter and idea. He began to think about how he healed himself, and his hand grew hot as he felt Grace's body knit beneath his hand. And just as quickly as it began, it ended as Grace began to lose consciousness.

Grace's eyes opened briefly. "Peter?"

He put a hand on her forehead. "Yeah."

In both of their minds an image of Sylar shoving Grace down a flight of stairs flashed. "Don't let him kill me in my sleep."

"OK," was all he could think to say before she was out.

Suresh sat back on his heels, amazed. "What just happened?"

Peter looked at the other man briefly. "I don't know. But I think we need to get out of here. Now." Suresh nodded and went back toward the van.

Peter stayed kneeling next to Grace and did the only thing he could think of. One hand rested on top of hers. The other stroked her hair gently. "It's going to be alright Grace," he whispered, "I'm here."

To Be Continued…..

Well, what do you think?

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	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you, thank you, to all my readers and reviewers! Enjoy!_

"She's a conduit," Mr. Bennet explained.

They had all piled back into the van and driven away until Peter and Hiro were able to recover well enough to teleport them back to New York. The ride had been silent. Suresh driving, Claire in the passenger seat, unwilling to talk to anyone, even Peter shoving away from his embrace to throw up. She just pressed her head against window and watched the stars pass by, muting her fears and anger. Peter sat in the back, Grace's head on his lap. Hiro offered to take her for a while, but Peter shook his head, so Hiro sat across from the pair with Mr. Bennet.

"A conduit?"

Noah nodded, examining Grace carefully from across the small span of blood stained floor between them. "Grace has a very special connection to the world. When she comes contact with something, especially if she touches it, she can glean information from it. Where it's been, who had it last, how it was made, and so on. With people, she knows about their past, gets inside their minds." Peter looked down at the girl in his lap. Even in sleep her face looked pained. He began to stroke her forehead softly. Her eyes screwed shut suddenly, and she twisted in his grip. "I know her dreams can be rough. There's nothing you can do."

Peter looked down at Grace again. He understood what it was like to have bad dreams, dreams that aren't figments of fancy but spits of fury filled reality. "But she was talking to me, in my head."

"Really? She never mentioned anything like that before." Mr. Bennet paused, rubbing the short hairs on the back of his head. "My guess is that since you can mirror her powers that the amplification allows for some interaction beyond the norm. It would explain why you were able to temporarily transfer your healing abilities to her when you were connected."

"But what about Sylar? Why wasn't he able to get to us?"

Mr. Bennet glanced at Hiro to see if he had the same question, but Hiro was asleep, head rolled back into the dirty seat, mouth agape. "Well, Grace also has some telekinesis abilities. She can push things. But all her abilities are erratic at best. She can do much more then that, but chooses not to."

"Why?"

"I think that you need to ask her that." Peter didn't like that answer, but Noah either didn't notice or didn't mind. "So," he leaned forward, almost like the two were conspiring, "what do you think happened between you two."

"I think that's something Grace and I need to discuss alone, Mr. Bennet."

"Look, we need to examine the situation carefully. After all, you said that Grace was able to talk to you inside your head before you absorbed her powers. I don't understand how that happened."

Peter shrugged nervously. He didn't feel like having this conversation without Grace's involvement. "Maybe she's more powerful then we know. You said her powers can be erratic."

"Having you two together might pose a possible problem."

"I don't think so."

"But we don't know for sure. And considering the unstable tendencies that both of you demonstrate, I have a right to have concerns."

Now Peter was just getting angry. "We need to work this out alone, Mr. Bennet."

"Why?"

"It's personal."

"You don't have the right to make it personal. What if she makes you explode again?"

The thought alone of that made Peter ill. "I won't. Look, I just don't feel comfortable getting into this considering I really don't know what this is."

"For once you might need to leave your feelings out of this. Why don't we…"

"Oh for Christ's sake Dad," Claire cut in, not turning from the window pane, "would you give it a rest. He's not going to tell you anything. Shit."

Mr. Bennet looked at his daughter, flabbergasted, then sighed unwilling to start an argument considering everything that had happened in the past few hours. "Fine then. I'll wake Hiro. Let's go home."

They pulled over, and Mr. Bennet set the van on fire.

"Come on everyone," Hiro said with a smile, trying to make the best of the situation, "touch your favorite teleporter."

Peter, who had Grace cradled gently in his arms shifted the sleeping young lady and held his hand out to Claire. She looked at it for a moment, then back up at her weary uncle. Without emotion she turned and touched Hiro's jacket. Mr. Bennet didn't like this, but didn't feel like being cussed out by his daughter, either. Suresh got Hiro's other shoulder, and Mr. Bennet got Peter's.

"Poof," said Hiro quietly, and the road was absent of people.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was two days later.

They had been able to teleport back to the Peter, Hiro, Suresh, and Molly's house, the residence Nathan had abandoned for the chill of D.C. Claire had immediately gone off to a bedroom and slammed the door, and no amount of knocking from anyone could unbolt the lock, forcing Mr. Bennet to resign himself to reading and waiting. Suresh spent time with Molly, more grateful for her now. Hiro set about getting the place ready for guests, and formulating plans for if Sylar ever decided to show himself. He practiced in the court yard obsessively with his sword, up down, side, and stop. Control. Hiro knew he had to have control, and he almost did. Having to have control isn't what bothered him. It was the uncertainty of when that control would be needed that made him worried. So he practiced against the future, against fate.

Peter stayed with Grace. She'd been asleep with fitful dreams ever since closing her eyes in the headlight's glare. There was no scar from where she had been shot, just a large and ugly purple bruise that stretched from the front to the back of her body. It looked painful, and Peter could swear that Grace grimaced when Suresh would sit her up and examine her twice a day.

"I could do that you know." Peter said, hovering next to the bed during one of Grace's exams on the second day.

"Sure," Suresh was ignoring him.

"I was a nurse, I know about this sort of thing."

Suresh gave him a long, annoyed look. "And I'm a doctor. I win."

That comment didn't make Peter happy, especially since Grace was starting to unconsciously squirm in Suresh's hands. "She doesn't like being touched."

"Well, that's just too bad right now."

"Don't you think this can wait? Why are you so interested in her?"

Suresh didn't meet Peter's eyes, "She wasn't on the list."

"And now, when she can't give consent, is the time to figure out why? No. In fact, I think it's time for you to leave." Peter reached out and touched Suresh's shoulder and it happened again. Peter began to absorb Suresh's memories. A conversation here, the smell of food, unanswered questions. Nothing was overwhelming clear, but everything was still overwhelming.

Peter wrenched his hand away and fell to the floor. Suresh was immediately next to him. "Peter, are you alright?"

Peter screwed his eyes shut. "Leave."

"How can I help?"

"Leave now." He managed to open his eyes. "Please."

Suresh shut off his doctor brain and turned on his humanity. "I need to go and check on Molly anyway," he said, quietly shutting the door.

Peter went back and sat on the large bed next to Grace. It hadn't taken him long to figure out Grace's cryptic comment to him about being sorry to burden him with her ability. The world was his enemy. When they had first come home, he'd put Grace in an extra bed room and gone back to his own. He lay down to rest, and his dreams were of tired Taiwanese women's small hands running over fabric similar to his sheets. He went and sat in a chair, and saw a forest. The carpet beneath his feet made him remember every family pet whose paws lingered on the fibers. Soon his clothing was telling him things too, horrible, horrible things. He ripped it off and sat in the shower. The rhythmic beats of water were calming, and he was thankful the secrets of the city failed to course into the pipes. Peter began to wash his hair, and got a crash course in chemicals, creating a stinging in his brain and his eyes. He crumpled to the cool tub floor and began to rock himself back and forth, concentrating. Peter thought of something that Claude had told him, a technique he'd been using lately. He needed to think about his powers like a rolodex, neat and orderly and under control, filing one after another away in an orderly fashion. He felt better slowly and was able to get out of the shower and get dressed and, exhausted, fell back into bed.

But the dream returned. He was in space, Nathan flying away, a dotted star on the horizon. Burning from the inside out, unable to cry or scream, terrified and alone. He looked up, waiting for the pain, and there was Grace. She stared at him clear eyes and held out her hand.

He awoke with a start and bolted to Grace's room, ignoring all the feeling the world gave him. Peter stood next to her bed, the light from the hall brushing across her face. There was a single tear of blood running down her placid cheek that Peter brushed away with his thumb. Being close to her made him feel better. It tuned out the constant influx of information, like a white noise machine might quiet a room. Gently he picked up Grace and took her to his room, letting her sleep in his bed, while he stretched out on a few plush chairs.

They'd been there ever since, mainly sleeping, occasionally exchanging information in bursts, their dreams reaching out to each other like bursts from the sun. He'd even gone through her bag that had been left behind when she'd been asked to help out. Sheepishly, Peter examined each item trying to figure something, anything, out. Grace had very little, some clothing and personal items, as expected, along with the collected works of Shakespeare. But most surprisingly, Grace's bag contained a large, old leather jacket, one that was undoubtedly made for a man. Its pockets were empty except for a medium sized stone, worn smooth from been rolled over and over in a person's hand. It fit in Peter's palm perfectly, and he could smell the ocean.

The others asked him why he stayed with her and Peter lied that he just felt nervous leaving Grace alone. The truth was that leaving the room was problematic to his sanity, but showing any cracks in competency would be an open invitation for Mr. Bennet curiosity. His reaction to Suresh was no anomaly, and allowing himself to lie down next to Grace and closed his eyes, he experienced one of his most common fears, that life might always be like this, a mental balancing act.

XXXXXXXX

Peter opened his eyes and was at a school. Teenagers streamed around him, the sun beating down in hot strands. Grace was there, but with blonde hair, both eyes a dull brown. She brushed past him, and he followed, just like before.

Then he was inside an office. Grace was sitting across from a very stern looking older woman. Peter peaked at the desk. A little sign, right next to a figurine of a praying child, read "Mrs. Keats, Guidance Councilor."

"Look Ms. Richards, it's not so much that we don't believe you. I doubt that you would be making these accusations without just cause. But we simply don't have any evidence that Jenny was abused."

"What do you mean no evidence?"

Mrs. Keats adjusted her too tight fitted skirt and sighed. "DCF was there. They found plenty of food in the fridge and a clean home."

"Obviously some one helped them."

"And," Mrs. Keats continued, ignoring Grace completely, but shifting closer, "the interview with both parent and child, along with neighbors, indicated no physical abuse."

Grace sat forward. "Now that just isn't true. I know that Jenny was having problems. I know her mom hit her."

"The evidence would seem to indicate otherwise."

"Evidence can be faked."

Mrs. Keats leaned back in her chair. Peter could tell she felt Grace was about as reliable as a box of rusty nails. "And what makes you think that is the case here? It says here on your original report that you have no direct evidence of abuse, just a feeling. What exactly does that mean?"

Grace shifted uncomfortably. "It's just…that. A feeling." She was losing ground, and knew it. The situation was just a memory, but even Peter felt uncomfortable. "Look, the rules say that you need to report any suspicion of abuse. I had a suspicion."

"No, you had a 'feeling,' not a suspicion. You may be a new teacher, and I know you mean well, but please learn the difference before you report something again."

Grace got up and walked toward her room, Peter followed. Clear tears rolled down her cheeks. He stuck out a hand to touch her shoulder and it went right through.

She shakily unlocked the door. "They didn't believe you, did they?"

"You."

Mr. Bennet was seated at a desk, cleaning his glasses. "Not enough evidence, maybe."

"What have you done?"

"I'm protecting you. What are you going to tell them, Grace, if things were really questioned? 'Oh, I was helping her pick up her school books one day and touched her arm and oops, I got into her mind and knew that mommy got drunk last night and hit the girl.' That wouldn't go over well."

"You don't know that would happen."

Mr. Bennet got up. "No, I don't."

"I could have helped her."

Mr. Bennet touched her arm and Grace jerked away. He began to walk toward the door. Before leaving he turned, "You need to protect yourself better against detection Grace. I really thought you would have learned that by now."

Grace hung her head. "I just wanted to help. What else am I supposed to do with what I can do?" Peter's heart clenched.

And he woke up.

XXXXXXXXXX

Peter's eyes opened slowly, and he jumped back a little to see Grace staring back at him. They were lying in his bed facing each other, and Peter realized that despite only having met each other just once, they knew each other very well.

Grace smiled. "Hi."

Her grin was contagious. "Hi." Peter reached across the small space between them and tried to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Grace recoiled a little. "Sorry."

She shrugged, "It's OK, I know I'm weird about being touched. Sorry about you absorbing my powers."

Peter propped himself up on an elbow. "It was inevitable. But I wasn't going to leave you there. I couldn't do that."

"Yeah, I know."

"I guess we know a lot about each other."

They sat up in bed and faced each other. Grace sat cross-legged and looked down at her attire, pulling out the extra large t-shirt to read the print upside down. "Hmmm, I never knew that about Coke. Wait," she looked at Peter accusingly, "did you, you know, dress me in this?"

Peter turned red and stammered, "It was Suresh, not me. He…he's a doctor so you know it's cool and everything. He cleaned you up. But it's my clothing so…"

That smile. "Thanks." They sat in a pleasant silence. "Look Peter, I appreciate everything that you've done for me. But I should really be going, disappear again before Sylar can find me."

Peter shook his head. "Now, I see that as a perfect reason for you to stay here."

"What, am I going to lure him here so you can capture him and chain him in the basement? No, it's too dangerous. There are children here; I won't put their lives in such a precarious situation."

"Between myself, Hiro, and Claire, I think they might have enough protection. You're safer here then on your own."

Grace's smile took a cruel tone. "I've heard that theory before. And the person who said that ate his words. Painfully. No, I'm not staying. He's going to come after me Peter"

"Well, after he drugged and tortured me, and whatever the hell he did to Claire, I have a little interest in seeing Sylar again. And if you are the way to bring he and I face to face again, then I'm not letting you get away. I won't let him hurt you. I won't let him hurt anyone ever again."

"Peter, your hand."

He looked down. Peter had clenched his hands so hard that his fingernails were imbedded into his palms, and blood was dripping onto the comforter. Grace immediately reached over and took his hand in her own, flipping his palm up to inspect the damage, hair falling in her face. Peter was surprised by the action, but didn't pull away from the tender gesture. "It's OK, it'll heal."

"I know." She didn't look up. But she also didn't let go of his hand. "I'll stay."

"Really?"

"Yes. Voluntarily, even. I've been on my own for a while. Who knows, some socialization might do me good."

"Good." Pause. "Can I have my hand back?"

Grace was embarrassed. "Sorry." They stared at each other for a long minute. "This is going to be weird. I know stuff, you know stuff…"

"Yup. So," Peter clapped his hands together, "where do we begin."

Grace thought for a long time, head leaned back to look at the ceiling, then looking straight at Peter, her smile returned, she asked, "How can you like wasabi ice cream?"

"It's Hiro's fault, I swear!"

They continued talking like that for a long time, laughing and understanding. Claire listened from outside the door, too angry to knock and ask Peter why he hadn't come to check on her, too proud to cry over another person's inconsiderate behavior.

But one thing was clear. Claire hated Grace.

_To Be Continued…_

_PS- Where have you gone, citty132 and inspire16, I miss your feedback!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Just a little reminder: I do not own any of these characters and I do not make any money from writing this thing here. Promise!_

"Gabriel!"

He turned and smiled widely, eyes lighting up, then held out his arms. Grace trotted over and grabbed onto him tightly, head buried in his coat. They pulled apart and Gabriel kissed Grace deeply. They looked so happy. Peter was both repulsed and intrigued.

"Hey there," he said.

"Hey yourself. I didn't think I'd find you in all these people."

He took her hand and kissed it. "Sorry."

"The crowd isn't your fault," Grace shrugged.

"Yeah, but…is it OK to be here? I know that crowds can give your migraines."

"You're here, I'm fine." Gabriel huffed as they began to walk down the street. "What?" Grace shook their joined hands. "What?"

"I just don't understand how I can make things better for you. I'm just a watchmaker." 

"And I'm just a teacher."

"At least you're doing something with your life. Something important."

"I've seen more, had more. It's not worth it." She sighed, "Have you been thinking about your father again?"

"Sometimes I just don't understand why you…" he looked at her seriously, "you're wonderful, and I'm just not important, no matter how much I want to be."

Grace stopped them on a street corner, taking Gabriel's face in her hands. "Gabriel, are you a good watchmaker?"

"Yes."

"And do you feel you treat people with respect."

"Yes."

"And do you love me?"

He smiled, "Of course."

"Then Gabriel, I'd say you're doing something important with your life. Being a good person is very underrated."

"Don't you want more?"

Grace smiled, "No. You've given me what I've wanted." She kissed him. "I love you."

"I know."

"Thank you, Han Solo." They laughed, and Gabriel kissed her forehead. "Come on, let's go and see that movie."

Gabriel offered his arm like a prince would and Grace took it with a smile. As the two walked off, Peter shuddered, two questions running through his mind.

First, what could have possibly happened to make this Gabriel into the Sylar he knew and hated?

And second, why did Sylar, Gabriel, push Grace down a flight of stairs?

He was going to have to kick Sylar's ass for that. Among other things.

XXXXXXXXXX

It had been five days since the rescue and everybody was trying to get back to normal. Suresh was busy home schooling Molly. Mr. Bennet called everyone who had been involved in the New York incident to warn them about Sylar, and then began to research the parasite. It bothered Noah that Sylar might now be able to change appearance, even temporarily.

Peter had been showing Grace around the city, and each seemed to be growing into their powers and how they were going to have to interact with each other.

Yes, it was almost a perfect result. Perfect, if it weren't for Claire.

Claire Bennet would never claim that her life before the discovery of her powers had been perfect. But it had been relatively normal and happy, and she was mature enough to value these things. In fact, if life had gone on as it was Claire was pretty sure she would have been happy with the results. However fate had taken away her prom, graduation, and college consistency, and Claire was getting pissed. She had every right to be, after all. Hadn't she handled things well so far?

Claire had sat in her room alone for four days, thinking everything over. So much had changed. First her father was good. Then bad. Then good again. Same with her biological father. Then her mothers and their issues. And running away. And New York almost blowing up. And Peter.

Peter. Claire considered him late one night in the kitchen, eating a sandwich with the refrigerator door open. She giggled self consciously at the memory of their first meeting. She had liked him. A cute guy who comes and saves you? Disney made a mint on that concept. Who didn't want that? When it turned out that Peter was her uncle, Claire could admit she was a little disappointed. But since she refused to be a Dateline special, she forced her feelings to change. At least Peter was still a part of her life. She liked to believe that she and Peter shared a special connection. While everything else might fall apart, Claire knew in her heart that Peter was there for her.

So she sat in her room and waited. Waited for Peter to take the time to come see her, use his abilities to unlock the door despite her protests and come and talk to her. She'd waited ever so patiently, and when he never came Claire decided she was angry. Not hurt, mind you. Angry. And even angrier when she heard Peter and Grace talking and laughing like old friends. Who was that girl, anyway?

So when Claire came down to breakfast on the fifth day, she came with a plan. They were all down there, sitting around the kitchen, every breakfast making supply out on the counter.

"Pancakes!"

"We have pancakes on Saturdays Molly." Suresh plunked a bowl down in front of the girl, "Have cereal instead."

Molly pouted for a bit until Grace sliced strawberries onto her Cornflakes. Peter watched the two over the edge of his coffee cup, smiling. Grace seemed so at effortless with Molly, it was easy to see why she was a teacher.

"Hello Claire." Everyone stopped what they were doing at the sound of Mr. Bennet's voice and looked at the staircase.

"What's for breakfast?" There was no emotion in her voice, no consequence.

"Anything you want," Mr. Bennet said. He walked over and tried to hug his daughter, who stayed as still as a statue. It broke his heart. "Please, come sit down."

Peter smiled again, tripping a little to stand up and patted the stool next to him. "Hey Claire. I was worried."

She sat down at the large island across from Peter, Grace, and Molly. "Oh yes Peter, I can tell you were very worried about me."

There was an awkward silence, with Peter staring at Claire, mouth a little agape.

Grace put on her best smile. "Hi, I'm Grace."

"I know who you are," her words, and eyes, were equally icy.

"Oh," Grace said, her mouth staying an O for an extra second. Peter and Grace looked at each other.

Claire grabbed a napkin, snapped it like a rat tail in the air, and then placed it on her lap gently. "I want to go and see my father today. I want to go and see Nathan."

Mr. Bennet adjusted his glasses, his universal sign of uncomfortableness. "I'm sure he's very busy Claire."

It was as if he didn't exist. "I'm his daughter, he'll make time."

"You could talk to me."

Claire looked at Mr. Bennet like he was a moron. "No. I need to talk to someone like me. You wouldn't understand." An awkward silence fell over the room. Peter shifted in his seat, about to say something, but Grace pinched his side.

Suddenly a door flew open and Hiro bounced in from his morning run, softly singing Japanese. He cleared the island, retrieved a water from the fridge, and unscrewed the top before noticing that no one was talking or moving in the room. Hiro sidled up to Molly, plucking the buds of his ipod from his ears. "What did I miss?"

"No pancakes," Molly said.

"I see."

"Hiro," Claire cut in, putting on her sweetest smile, "how would you feel about going to D.C. today?"

Hiro was taken aback. He and Claire were never that close, but he felt that she was a good person really. Maybe this meant she was warming up to him. "Sure that's… it sounds good. Let me shower and then…"

"No," Mr. Bennet said flatly.

"What? Is something wrong with the shower?"

Noah got very close to his daughter. "I won't let you go like this."

Claire stood up so she could face the man eye to eye. "What are you going to stop me? Tie me up? Like to see you try." She turned towards Hiro again, becoming a bouncy teenager, "We leave in an hour, K?"

Hiro stared at her, motionless. "OK."

"Great." Claire grabbed an apple and left the kitchen.

The room was silent for a moment.

Hiro took a deep breath. "What the heck just happened?"

XXXXXXXXXX

In a large art gallery in downtown New York two people moved from painting to painting talking as they often had over the last few days. Their discussion meandered from topic to topic in an easy way. To a casual observer, the two might appear to be good, long time friends without a care in the world.

Those people would, of course, be wrong.

After the disaster of breakfast Peter and Grace had fled the house. Or rather, Grace had wanted to flee, and was only able to drag Peter from his residence after convincing him for half an hour that there was nothing that he could do to help Claire. She pointed out that Peter was going through some issues as well, and it was alright for him to take some time for himself.

Peter begrudgingly had to admit this was true. He was getting better at controlling Grace's ability. Better, but not perfect. Inside the house, awake, he did alright. But at night, in his twisted dreams, nothing was sacred. He'd awake in cold sweats, roll out of bed listening to the tales of his room, and make his way to Grace's. He wanted to wake her up to talk, and he'd find an arm extended to shake her shoulder, but stopped himself, too ashamed to upset her slumber. Instead Peter grabbed an extra pillow and lay down on the plush carpet next to her bed, happy to bask in Grace's calming aura. He'd awake in the morning, a blanket over his body along with an extra pillow, Grace already downstairs. They did this every night, and never talked about it.

The pair were standing in front of a large painting, it blue and green swirls a perfect match to Grace's eyes. It was a larger gallery then what they had been to the last few days since Peter was still getting used to unknown groups of people.

"Do you believe that we are born good or bad?" Peter asked from nowhere.

Grace kept looking at the painting. "You've been inside my dreams again."

"Sorry."

"No need to apologize."

"I've been thinking about him."

"Gabriel?"

"Sylar."

"Yes, Sylar." Grace finally looked at him. "I was wondering when you were going to ask about him. And me, I suppose."

"I didn't want to pry."

They moved to the next painting, dark and black. "I don't mind talking about it. With you, at least." She stared back up at the canvas, "You know, I don't think that I've ever talked about him with anyone except you and…" she faded, "my father." There was an eerie pause and Grace's eyes shone. "You need to understand, he was Gabriel, not Sylar. Not Sylar. Not at first."

Peter indicated a bench and they sat down. "It's strange for me to think of him as anything else then a bastard."

"I know, and I can't blame you. The things he's done, that you've shone me. I know he scares you."

"That's not true," Peter was indignant, rising and pacing. "I'm not scared of him."

"Peter."

"No, you need to understand." He was getting very worked up, fingertips lighting up, passionate.

"I'll try."

"I just don't understand him yet."

"OK." 

"And," he looked around, "and…"

A tour group passed by Peter, covering him on all sides, cameras up and clicking, minds opened. In his agitated state, he was an open target, and got hammered. It was all so overwhelming, and, unfortunately, in Chinese. Peter stood for a few seconds, trying to gain control. He failed, and was blinded to the spot. Just as his knees began to buckle, he felt a hand tugging his arm, and moved where he was pulled. He rushed for a minute or two, and was sat down. Slowly, Peter's eyes were able to focus again. They were outside in a small park near the gallery. Grace sat behind him rubbing his shoulders, her seemingly magic presence calming him.

A thought came to him, "Why is it alright for you to touch me, but I can't touch you?"

Grace retracted her hands immediately. "I'll stop then."

"That's not what I meant."

"Yeah, I know." Grace scooted forward to sit next to Peter.

Silence. "This ability, does it get easier?"

"Yes," Grace was firm. "It's all about control and learning to deal. What you need to find is a key, something you can keep with you that brings things together, lets you focus." She dug in her jeans pocket for a moment, producing the stone Peter had seen before. "This is mine. I roll it in my hand when things get rough. It's pure, rolled smooth by the ocean. Someone I loved gave it to me, and there are only good memories attached to it. You need to find a key Peter. Just don't let it be a person."

"Why?"

"People lie. People leave. At least they leave me." It was the most honest thing that Peter had ever heard Grace say.

"Was Sylar, I mean Gabriel, a key for you?"

Grace lay down in the grass. "No, but I wanted him to be." Peter lay down too, the sky absent of clouds. "By the time I was fourteen I was on my own."

"Why?"

"Things happened." Peter was becoming frustrated by Grace's obscure answers, not because it was annoying, but because he was starting to genuinely care. However, he said nothing. "Like I said, I was on my own. I did OK for a while, but I always wanted to… I missed being loved. Needed." Peter gave a little laugh. "Yes, yes, I know it cliché. But clichés only exist because they happen. For a while during school I could pretend that I didn't need a family, that I could ignore the craziness of my past. Liar. Then I met Gabriel. You would have liked him then. He was quiet and sweet and simple. We liked the same things. He called me beautiful." Grace turned her head and Peter did the same so they could see each other. "I don't know. How do you explain how or why you love someone? You just do." Peter nodded. "He made me happy. He made me feel safe. I let myself believe that it could be like that forever. And it all just crumbled away." Grace turned her head back to the sky.

"Is that what you fear the most? Being alone?"

"No."

"You're lying." Peter knew this for sure. One benefit of Grace's abilities was great lie detection.

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are." He sat up in the grass. "I don't get you Grace. Most of the time when we talk and we're connecting you are this nice, sweet, open person. But when I get to certain personal things and you close up. What is it? Do you think I can't handle things?"

"No."

"Am I not worthy?" Peter got up.

"That's not it." Grace also rose to her feet.

Peter snorted. "Sure."

Now Grace was getting angry. "Fine then, what do you fear the most Peter?"

He wagged his finger, "No changing the subject."

"Not so easy to answer. I don't see you offering up your problems. So Peter, how does it feel to explode? How does it feel to be tortured by the man you fear? Huh?" They stared at each other, and Grace broke first. "I just don't see why I should burden you alright? I'm this fucked up, broken… thing. I destroy people. I don't want to drag you down with me. Not when you're going to come to the same conclusion my father did, that it's just better to be apart." Grace threw up her hands. "Look Peter, you're a nurse and you like to fix things. That's wonderful and all but you need to understand you can't fix everything."

"You're not broken."

"You don't know me."

"I'd like to."

"Don't say that. Don't say nice things." Grace closed her eyes. "Don't give me hope." Peter moved closer to her.

"Maybe you're my key? Grace, when I'm with you all the confusion that your powers have given me goes away. It's like you calm my mind. You know what I mean."

They were standing very close to one another. Grace opened her eyes but couldn't look at the young man in front of her. "I'm sorry Peter, but I don't."

He took her trembling hand in his, and for the first time she didn't pull away. "You're lying."

Grace opened her mouth to respond, but before a sound came out Peter's cell phone wrung. "Answer it."

He dug in his pocket and flipped open the phone, noticing that the house phone was calling him. "What?"

"Peter, its Hiro. I hope I'm not interrupting."

Peter sighed, "No, you're not interrupting anything." There was a large crash in the background. "What's going on?"

"I think you need to come home. Now." There was another large noise. Peter could hear Claire yell something then Hiro said, "Claire could you put that down please, it's very…" crash. There was a moment where it sounded like the phone got dropped then Hiro's voice again. "Look, things didn't go well with Nathan, so Claire is trying to break the kitchen. Please just…" and the phone went dead.

_To Be Continued…_

_Next Chapter: a girl fight, and one good reason Grace is the way she is!_

_Remember, reviews make the world go round!_


	7. Chapter 7

_Sorry about the long delay. I'm searching for a job, and that takes time. Thank you for the great feedback folks! For a writer, I think it's one of the more satisfying things around to hear that people like your style._

Claire Bennet loved her hair. Being adopted she wondered about what her mother had looked like. To her, she would never have gotten such hair from her father. It had to be her mother, who wore her hair long and streaming and golden.

"Beautiful." Sylar had touched her hair.

So Claire was breaking the good plates. She had already gone through the everyday plates and glasses that went in the dishwasher. Hiro had tried to stop her holding up his hands and saying something about being crazy. Claire winged a juice glass at him, and he stopped.

Claire didn't care much about the noise she was making, or the sound, though she had to admit both were enjoyably naughty. It was the physical act of what she was doing that proved so satisfying. She flung her arm as hard as she could launching anything in reach, over and over, strong and in control.

By the time Peter and Grace were able to teleport back into the house, the kitchen floor was littered with shards, a large, battered baseball bat stretched out on the island. The two stood up to Hiro, who had been watching Claire from the relative safety of a doorway.

"What happened?" Peter asked.

"I took Claire to Nathan's house like she asked. I don't think that he was happy we were there; he made us wait a long time. Then Claire went upstairs and I waited. She came back later with a baseball bat and she said we had to go. When we came home she came in here for a snack and things went downhill. I tried to stop her."

Peter patted Hiro's back. "I know, it's alright. Where's everyone else?"

"Out. Though I wish her father was here." There was a large smashing sound, and Hiro flinched reflexively. "Holy crap, I think that was the blender!"

"We can't just let her keep going like this. Someone needs to stop her."

"Go right ahead."

Peter stared at his niece, unsure of what to do. "Claire," he called out, "you need to stop. I want to talk, to help."

"Shut up. You don't care so just leave."

"That's not true and you know it." A pan was flung in the Peter's direction. "Real mature Claire, you're being real mature."

Hiro touched Peter's arm, "I'm not sure you getting angry is going to help anything right now."

"Yeah I know," Peter sighed. He rubbed his neck and looked around. "Hey, where did Grace go?"

Just then the young woman appeared in the kitchen from another door, baseball bat in hand. Grace pointed the instrument at Claire. "Get your bat and go outside."

"Excuse me."

"Grace no," Peter hissed from the doorway.

"Pick it up and go outside."

"No."

"I know you hate my guts right now. That's fine. So if you go outside right now, and do what I say, I'll let you crack me with the bat. OK?"

Claire picked up the bat. "Aren't you scared?"

Grace looked at her head on. "Daily. Now, outside. March." Claire stalked out of the kitchen, bat in hand, Grace following. Peter and Hiro let the door shut for exactly one second before virtually leaping over the shards and following the two women outside.

XXXXXXXXXX

"This is stupid." Claire was staring at Grace like Grace had just told her the Earth was flat and circled by a cheese moon.

"Probably."

"I don't know why I agreed to this."

"You can leave. But no one is going to let you go back there and keep destroying the house."

Claire turned the bat in her hands. Being so angry was getting tiring. "Fine. What should I do?"

"Like I said, you take the bat and hit the tree. Like this." Grace reared back and swung, squarely connecting with the trunk of a gigantic tree in the back yard a little way from the edge of the pool. Peter and Hiro stood a bit away, observing. Claire thought about things for a second. She'd never been good at softball or baseball in school, but there was that perfect saying about the side of a barn. Claire swung. Crack. Even better then the plates. So she swung again. "Better?" Claire didn't answer. Grace rested her bat on her shoulder. "Look, I know you probably don't want to talk to me."

"Nope."

"But I think that you need to talk about Sylar." Claire cracked the tree again. "This may sound silly, but I know what you're going through."

"I doubt it."

"In fact you remind me of me when I was younger."

"Whatever."

"I don't want you to become me. To let anger make you scared."

Claire whipped around and approached Grace. "Who in the hell are you? Coming into our home and acting like you know everything. You know how I feel? Really? Prove it, or I'm going to take you up on that offer to crack you one."

"Alright." Grace took the bat down from her shoulder. "My father was, is, like us. Special. From the time I was seven, it was me and him against the world. He loved me, tried to keep me safe." Grace hit the tree. "But his life style, his past. When I was fourteen, some enemies caught up with us." Crack. "They took me from our home. Took out one of my knees with a crow bar so I couldn't escape." Grace set down the bat and rolled up her pant leg to show a very nasty scar. She let her pant leg drop and hit the tree again, strong. "Used my…abilities..." crack, "me." Crack. "And for the month I was locked in that apartment I thought, 'It's OK, just wait, he'll come and save you. Things will go back to the way they were.'" Crack. "And when he did come, and saved me, all I wanted was to go back to normal, erase everything bad in my life. But my father said no. He gave me a new identity and left me behind, thinking I'd be safer on my own. He'd always been good at disappearing." Grace hit the tree again and looked at Claire. "So yeah, I know how you feel. It sucks."

"Yeah," Claire said, "it does." Claire looked at her bat. "I'm sorry." Grace shrugged. "I'm not going to hit you."

"I never thought you would." Grace backed away from the tree. "Your turn."

Claire thought for a second then turned towards Peter. "I never was awake when we were with Sylar. I'm sorry." Then she turned back to the tree and raised the bat. "Nathan didn't want to see me." Crack. "He was busy. Squeaked me in-between meetings. His daughter." Crack. "Said he'd tried calling. I didn't believe him. I don't know, he seemed distracted. Asked if I wanted orange juice. I don't like orange juice. Shouldn't he know that? He's my father?" Crack. "So I asked him why he didn't come and get me. Didn't he love me? Nathan told me something about how he did love me, but because of his public possition and his own children he couldn't take the risk." Crack. "So I asked if I were a risk or a child of his. He just told me that I didn't understand. Then he had to take a phone call, so I went out of the room." Crack. "And wondered to the garage." Crack. "And found a baseball bat." Crack. "And I took out his convertible." Crack. "Then I came home." Claire began to cry. "Oh my God, I actually killed his convertible. That isn't me." She looked at Peter. "This isn't me."

Peter had had enough. He walked over and grabbed Claire in a fierce hug. The bat dropped to her side and she grabbed onto her uncle, sobbing. He shushed into her hair, rubbing her back in rhythmic circles. Claire dug her fingernails into Peter's back, gripping him for dear life. Grace went and stood next to Hiro, who rubbed her back as well.

After a few minutes Peter pulled away and tried to wipe the tears from Claire's face. "It's alright. Things will get back to normal."

Claire smiled, but it was a sad smile. "That's just it Peter. They won't. This is normal now. So what's next?"

Peter thought for a second, still brushing her cheek. "I don't know."

"Yeah, that's the real problem, isn't it?" Claire pulled away from his embrace, but not cruelly. "I think I want to go and take a shower now and be alone."

Peter nodded. "Now is this alone alone, or I should follow you later alone?"

"Alone, alone."

"OK." Claire began to start to walk toward the house, and Peter called out, "I'm your uncle, and I love you."

Claire turned to look over her shoulder. "I know. But everyone changes Peter."

The three watched Claire go back inside the house. "I think I'll go and start to clean up the glass," Grace said starting to go back.

"Grace wait," Peter called. She stopped. "Was what you said true?"

"That was about Claire, not me."

"Was it true?"

She turned. "Yes." There was a moment of silence. "I'm going to go and clean up the kitchen now.

"Hang on a sec." Peter walked over to Grace. "I don't believe you."

"I don't need you to believe me for it to be true."

"Fine then. I can believe that you were really captured, but how did you escape?"

"I told you. My father came and rescued me."

"One man, against a bunch of people? I doubt it."

She averted her gaze. "I think that I need to go and…"

Peter grabbed Grace's arms and she jumped. Hiro stepped foreword, but Peter gave him a hard look, and he stepped back. "Look, I've been, I think, really accommodating until now with waiting for some answers. How was your father able to take out those men?"

"I told you. He has abilities. Are you telling me that you couldn't take out more then one person?"

"That's flattering Grace. But it doesn't answer my questions."

"Like what?"

Peter looked into Grace's eyes. The fiery response he had expected was absent, but he was too keyed up himself to stop pushing. "If they kept you for a month, they must have been very careful. How did he find you?"

"I don't know?"

"How did he get the resources to do that?"

"I don't know."

"And what did they do to you Grace?"

"Stop it."

"What did they do exactly?"

"You sound like him. You sound like Sylar."

"Well, did you give him some answers?"

Hiro was fed up. He forcefully separated the two and stood between them. "That's enough Peter."

"You want to know what happened? Fine. I killed them."

"What?" Peter stuttered.

"The people who had me? I killed them. I did, not my father."

"That's not you."

"Would you kill Sylar?"

Peter took a step toward Grace, but Hiro stood firm. "Grace, I'm…"

She held up a hand. "Don't bother." She turned and started walking toward the house.

"Wait." Peter called, trying to get around Hiro.

Hiro put a hand on the young man's chest. "Let her go. You've done enough."

"Wait." Grace stopped, but didn't turn around. "At least tell me who your father is."

Grace laughed. "Why?"

"Maybe I can help you find him."

"You know that he doesn't want to be found."

"What?"

"I've seen him in your thoughts. You two don't seem to get along very well."

"I don't understand."

Grace turned around. "Claude. My father is Claude."

She turned and went into the house.

Peter just sat on the ground.

Hiro looked from the door back to Peter. "Who's Claude?"

Peter shook his head, "Someone who guarantees our life isn't going to be normal. Ever."

_To Be Continued…_

_So, what do you think?_


	8. Chapter 8

_These characters are not mine. I make no money from writing this._

Peter Petrelli sat on his roof watching day turn into night. It was still inconceivable in some ways that a week ago he was being held captive, and a little over a year ago he was jumping off monkey bars, dreaming of flying. And now… well…

The rest of the day had been uneventful. Claire stayed in her room, but Peter was less concerned about her now. Hiro had helped Grace clean up the kitchen in silence, not complaining when the young woman had become upset and left the room crying. He'd had even gotten on his knees with tape to get the little shards. "If Molly hurt herself, I'd never forgive myself."

Peter had just nodded, unsure of what to do with his hands, his mind. So he had been sitting on the roof for several hours. A while ago Grace had come out to use the pool, swimming lap after lap after lap in her own clothing, too proud or scared to ask to borrow a suit from someone. Peter had noticed that Grace had kept her bags packed at all times, even being careful to do her laundry herself. He was afraid that Grace was going to run again, and he hoped he knew her well enough to know when.

But tonight Grace was swimming. Peter was impressed; she went for almost an hour before hauling herself over the edge and crawling to the bushes where she threw up pool water. Grace then grabbed some float tubes and coasted in the deep end. It occurred to Peter that it made more sense for Grace to have used her telekinetic abilities and have to tubes come to her. In fact, Peter hadn't seen Grace use either of her abilities since she'd gotten to the house.

Peter thoughts on that subject were completely disrupted when his cell phone wrung. He checked the ID. "You have a lot of explaining to do."

Nathan's heckles were raised instantly. "I need to explain!"

"Claire was really upset."

"So was my car."

"Good to know where your priorities are," Peter sneered.

"I don't need a lecture."

"I really thought you had changed, that you cared."

"I care about Claire plenty."

"Plenty but not enough."

"What do you expect out of me Peter?"

"I expect you to treat Claire with the love and respect she deserves, after everything she's gone through. Did you know she went to talk to you over talking to Mr. Bennet?"

Nathan sighed. "No, I wasn't aware of that."

"Of course you weren't."

"I'm trying me best here. Look Peter, you might not agree with what I'm doing right now, but in the long run I know I'm doing the right thing."

"Whatever."

"Oh grow up. We may have managed to not blow up New York and keep the existence of people like us a secret, but you need to realize this is a temporary situation. Eventually we will be known to the general public, and when that day comes people will look to examples like me of those who have their abilities in complete control. By taking certain steps now, I can guarantee some safe guards in the future."

"But what about what you are sacrificing now?"

"I know you don't approve of my choice not to join the team to rescue you and Claire. But I made my decision only because I had full confidence that those involved could handle things."

"But you didn't know for sure, did you?"

There was a pause on the phone. "Difficult choices are difficult for a reason," Nathan intoned. Peter peaked back over the edge of the house at Grace. "When you're a father, you'll understand."

"Maybe."

"Look I need to go, the kids have to be put to bed and they like it when I tuck the covers in." He laughed. "They're worried about spiders or something. Kids and their fears right?"

"Right. Goodnight Nathan." Peter took the phone from his ear and went to close it, but heard Nathan say something and brought the phone back. "What?"

"I said I love you."

"Oh. You've been saying that a lot lately."

"Yeah, well, even since that night in the square I've been trying to say it more often. I guess you're rubbing off on me."

Peter smiled. "I love you Nathan."

"Love you too. Goodnight."

Peter shut his phone with a flick. The stars would be out soon. He could wait.

XXXXXXXX

Mohinder Suresh lay on the couch in his home, an arm over his eyes. It had been a long day, on top of a series of very long days. But God, he loved her.

Molly. She sat near him on the floor, learning Japanese with Hiro as part of her home schooling, the young man holding up home made flashcards. Her hair was in lopsided pigtails. Mohinder had tried very hard to be a good father, and was grateful for the expedited custody Mr. Bennet had helped him receive, but the girly tings were beyond him. Maybe it would be different if his sister had lived, he thought wistfully. Usually Claire did Molly's hair, but when that option wasn't available he was left with the hair brush. Like this morning. And even though it was obvious to him that her hair was lopsided and lumpy she was proud to tell the receptionist at the dentist's office that her father had done her hair.

Her father. She hadn't called him dad yet, usually Mo, but it was alright. Not that he wouldn't mind being called dad. In his pursuit of his education and facts, Mohinder had left family by the wayside a little. But he had never shied away when a girlfriend talked about children, and his office in India had been the place where his colleague's young ones liked to go and stand before his desk asking for the hard candies he kept in the upper right hand drawer. And when Molly had placed her little hand in his it was as if their life lines were the same, and he knew that he couldn't let her go. He could explain it to other people that Molly needed to be near him for the transfusions. But really, he needed to be near to Molly.

Suresh's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening and shutting, then heavy footsteps coming toward the living room. He sat up as Mr. Bennet came in, peeled off his jacket, and sat heavily in a chair. "Hey, I've found out some things. We need to talk." He nodded toward Molly.

Mohinder patted the little girl on the back. "Why don't you go upstairs? I'll read to you from our book in a little bit, alright?"

"OK." Molly hugged him and ran out of the room.

Mr. Bennet waited until the footfalls were completely gone before he continued. "Candice Wilmer is dead."

Hiro got up and sat on the couch with Suresh. "The one with Linderman, who had Micah?"

"That's the one."

"How?"

"That's the part that worries me." 

Mohinder put his head in his hands. "Let me take a guess Noah, her head was mysteriously opened and absent of brains."

Mr. Bennet sighed, "Yes, and no. From the police report I obtained it appears that Sylar surprised her at home and stabbed her in the chest. She made him believe she was out on the ground while she called the police. Eventually she succumbed to her wound, but Sylar was only able to take about an eight of what he normally takes. The sound of the cops coming must have scared him off."

Hiro thought for a second. "So he only got a small portion of Candice's reality shaping."

"I think so. At least that fits with what Grace and Peter told us about their interaction with Sylar. He must be able to change his appearance for short periods, but not much else."

"So he could be anywhere. Anyone," commented Suresh.

"Yes."

Hiro puffed out his cheeks. "That's not good."

"To say the very least." Mr. Bennet began to clean his glasses. "I get the feeling that Sylar is collecting."

"Collecting?"

"Yes. At first Sylar took anyone he could for their abilities. Now it seems he is trying to get very specific things to help him."

Suresh shook his head. "But it still doesn't make any sense why he kidnapped both Peter and Claire and tortured only him. That doesn't seem like Sylar."

"Haven't you ever wanted to test a product before you bought it? I believe Sylar wanted to see just how far he could stretch Peter's powers, like some sort of guarantee. Claire must have been insurance. After spending so much time studying the horrific nature of Sylar's crimes it can be easy to forget that he is very smart and very patient."

"Plus," Hiro said flatly, "he's a creepy bastard."

Suresh caught a chuckle in his throat before it could escape. "That too, my friend." He turned toward Noah. "The bigger question is, what do we do now?"

"I vote we go and find him and… you know…" Hiro offered. "We could use Molly and…"

"No." Suresh cut him off. "No using Molly. I don't want her using her abilities anymore. It's too much of a risk."

"Isn't having her here with you a risk as well?" Hiro asked. Mohinder shifted in his seat. That was a question he often asked himself late at night when he sat next to Molly's bed and watched her sleep when his own dreams refused to come. "If we hunt down Sylar then we don't have to worry."

"No Molly."

"I agree with Mohinder here," Mr. Bennet imposed. "He needs to put Molly's safety first. The truth is, there are two scenarios. The first is that Sylar leaves us alone; losing a hand can be quite the deterrent. The other is that he is a threat and we take him out. But we don't really need to use Molly to find Sylar. He will come to us."

"Why?"

"We have bait."

XXXXXXXXXX

The discussion between the three men lasted for a while. Hiro made the same point over and over. But the other two didn't listen. When he'd tried to change the subject to what had occurred that day between Claire and Nathan, things had only gotten worse. And loud. And very, very angry. So he took refuge on the roof.

As soon as the door shut he noticed the other person there. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were up here. I'll go."

"No no, that's alright." Claire pulled her sweater around herself tighter. "Please stay, I could use the company."

"OK," Hiro smiled and joined Claire looking out over the city. They stood for a few minutes in a peaceful silence. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Why do you care what Nathan thinks?"

Claire kept looking at the lights. "He's my father."

"No, not really."

"What are you talking about?"

"He's not really your father. Biologically, yes I suppose you're right, he is. But my definition of a father is much different. I look at you and Nathan, and I look at you and Noah, and I know who your real father is. And I think you know too."

Claire's eyes filled with tears. She was getting sick of crying all the time, it was exhausting. "I know what you mean. But he held me down in the back of the truck. He let Sylar do that too me."

"You mean Suresh."

She looked at her hands. "Yeah."

Hiro looked at her. "Claire, what aren't you telling me?" She began to walk away. "Claire, what's going on?"

She turned and walked back over to Hiro and addressed him in hushed tones. "I lied today, alright. When we were with Sylar he… he'd wake me up. Talk to me. He explained the things he'd done to Peter in detail. He'd also tell me things, like how beautiful I was, how special. He brushed my hair once. Clipped my nails. He said that even under unfortunate circumstances, one cannot lose their decorum. Every time he put me under, I'd drift off praying that Peter or my dad would be there when I woke up. That they would save me. But they didn't." She put a hand on his arm. "Not that I'm not grateful to you, because I am. It's just that I thought that fate made me the way I am and had me have this family, then shouldn't I deserve being rescued by them. Peter did it once, and I didn't even know who he was then. Fate owes me for all the bad things that have happened to me."

"You're wrong."

"What?"

"Fate doesn't owe you anything, because fate doesn't do good or bad. Fate just is. What was it that you've told Peter and Nathan before?"

"That the future isn't written in stone."

Hiro nodded. "That's right. Fate can present opportunities to us, but we must act on them. Do you regret that the Haitian didn't erase your memories? Your life could have been very different."

"That's true." Claire stood at the edge of the building, the edge of the world, and put her hands on the crumbling boundary. "This must be easy for you. Isn't this what you always wanted?"

"I'll admit my office job was not everything I wanted out of life. But is this exactly what I wanted? I don't know. But this is what I have, and I won't curse it."

Claire slumped her entire upper body. "Why does everything have to be so confusing?"

"If I could answer that for myself, much less you, we wouldn't need to spend so much time up on the roof." He smiled. "Come on, let's go inside. It's getting late." They began to head towards the door.

"Hiro wait."

"Yeah?" 

"Don't tell Peter or my father what happened with Sylar and me. I don't want them to worry or feel guilty or anything. Plus, I just don't think I'm ready to talk about it and…"

Hiro held up his hand. "Your secret is safe with me."

"I know."

Hiro offered his arm like a knight, and Claire took it with a small laugh that she tried to cover with a slim hand.

Even after the door had shut the young man still didn't get up from his sitting position. Invisibility had advantages and disadvantages, Peter decided; though he wasn't entirely sure which category learning secrets fell into. So Claire didn't want him to know about Sylar and her interacting. That was fine, he even sort of understood why. But keeping secrets always had the potential to snowball.

Too tired and plagued to move, Peter fell asleep on the roof, his last thought a tiny prayer for the blessing of sweet dreams.

_To Be Continued…_


	9. Chapter 9

_Sorry for the long time between updates. I'm currently looking for a job, and feeling that if I have to write one more cover letter, I'll go insane. So I wrote this instead. Enjoy!_

It was the same dream, always the same dream. First he was flying, the sensation still as free and exhilarating as the first time. He looked down, trying to watch Claire for as long as he could. But in a blur she was gone, replaced in tight succession by a block, a city, the coast, and erratic clouds.

Peter was amazed by the silence when they began to enter space. It wasn't so much clear as empty. His vision was becoming blurring and golden, just like his body. Suddenly frightened Peter grabbed onto Nathan who hugged him back. "I don't think that I can go on any farther Peter. The air, it's getting thin. I'm going to take you up as fast as I can, try to push you higher." Nathan looked into Peter's eyes, both pairs filled with tears. "I'm sorry. I really wanted to be there for you, in the end."

Peter opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't. The radioactivity was burning his throat and tongue quicker then he could recover. Nathan noticed, shifting Peter's body weight so he could move his brother hair from his eyes. "It's OK, I know. I love you too." Peter looked at the hand gently moving his hair, and saw the blisters that were forming there. Nathan gave him one last look and they shot up into the air, Peter pressing himself close.

Then he was alone, floating upward. He looked down. Nathan disappearing below. His arms were outstretched, looking like a father who had thrown a child in the air and was waiting in anticipation for the return. But Peter stayed above, eventually floating a bit, either from his height or his own crumbling flying abilities. Nathan stared at Peter for another moment, and then flew away.

Peter watched Nathan go until he was a spot on the horizon. The pain was excruciating. As a nurse he knew that it was probably from the radioactivity turning his organs into liquid a little. He looked at his hands, the individual bones clearly visible. He would scream, if he could, but who would hear him. Things felt like they were in slow motion, like he had been there for hours, though it had only been a few seconds. It wasn't supposed to end like this, was it? How was this love? How could love be his gift? He was so hot, burning, searing. Dying. Everything was starting to glow…

And just like always, Peter woke up disoriented, still feeling like he was flying. After a couple seconds he realized that he actually was hovering about twenty five feet above the pool. Confused, Peter lost control and went tumbling into the deep end. The water smacked his face as he hit the surface, water filling his lungs as he sank to the bottom. Suddenly Peter felt someone gripping his shirt and then he was being pulled upwards hard. He burst to the surface, and a floaty tube was shoved under his arms, a strong hand beating on his back.

"Peter?"

He coughed hard, chlorinated water spurting from his nose.

"Peter, are you alright?"

He opened his eyes and saw Grace floating in front of him with a very concerned look on her face. She reached out and moved some hair from in front of his eyes. "Hey."

Peter gave another cough, but found his voice. "Hey. What happened?"

"You tell me. I was lying in the pool when suddenly you floated off the roof and stayed suspended for a couple of minutes. Then you woke up and came tumbling down and I had to fish you out. What were you dreaming about?"

"Nothing."

"Was it about exploding again?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, isn't that convenient."

Peter gave a little laugh. "Yeah, I sound like someone I know."

"Shut up."

"Oh I'm sorry; I thought you wanted to talk."

Grace nodded. "Sure. Let's talk about you."

Peter rested his head on his tube, letting his leg go slack in the water. It felt a little like flying. "It's not important."

"That's not true."

"I'll be fine." Peter looked her in the eyes and gave his most convincing smile.

"Liar." Grace kicked herself closer to Peter and grabbed his tube so they could talk quietly, her legs bumping his in the water every so often. "Peter, I know what's wrong."

"Enlighten me then."

"You're scared. You're scared of losing control." Peter looked away. "You're a good person Peter, and you're abilities are a whole heck of a lot of responsibility. You care about who might get hurt. That's a good thing."

"I almost killed millions of people, not because I wanted to, just because I existed." He dipped his chin into the water a bit. "I can't… I don't deserve to…" his thoughts trailed off for a while. Then suddenly he remembered a conversation from earlier. "You killed people."

"Two of my three captors, yes."

"Yeah, but you kinda had to, didn't you? How do you, you know deal with that?"

Grace sighed. "Not very well apparently."

Peter touched her arm lightly, genuinely concerned. "What happened?"

Grace took a long shuddering breath. "I always try, in my mind, to justify what happened by saying they weren't good people. And I suppose they really weren't. They kidnapped me. Did things to me. I don't know, I've blocked out a lot of that stuff. In the end, they just used my powers so much, I… overloaded. Lost control. I ripped them limb from limb, tore the flesh from their bodies while they screamed. At first it felt good to be in control, to let my telekinesis kick in and be in charge. And I thought, well, they deserve it don't they? They deserved it!" Grace's hand hit the water, splashing both, her eyes gleaming.

"I'm sure they did." Peter said, sympathetically.

Grace looked at him strangely. "Did they really Peter? I ask myself that all the time. When they were," she shuddered, "dying, I was in their heads. Not by choice really, but I was so keyed up that anything around me was just there. Do you know what they thought about Peter, the images I saw? Birthday parties and Christmas. A school play. Going out with friends at night. They were sons and brothers and friends. And here I was taking them away."

"Grace, you had every reason to do what you did."

"Did I? Does anyone have that right?" She hung her head. "I just don't know."

"Yeah."

"After that it was over, I just sat for a long time, looking around. I was ashamed, happy, and guilty at what I had done. I hated myself."

"So what did you do?"

"What else could I do? I got up and walked to a bus stop then the safe house where I met my father. I don't know how I managed on my busted knee, must have been my abilities or something. I don't know, it's all such a mess."

Peter shook his head. "But you've recovered so well."

"Not really. My bloody tears and noses and stomach problems only started after my abduction. Whenever I use my powers too strongly it's like my body has an allergic reaction, a reminder of things I don't need to do."

"My dreams. Maybe that's my stopping point too. A reminder."

"Maybe, I don't know."

They sat in silence for a minute both pairs of eyes downcast, watching the water ebb and flow. Slowly and quietly Peter pulled Grace closer until their foreheads were resting together. "If I admit I'm scared, does that mean I admit I can't fix the problems I have?"

"No."

"I'm scared," Peter admitted, quietly.

"Me too."

Their moment was interrupted by Grace yawning. "Come on," he said, separating the two, "we should get some sleep." They swam to the shallow end then trudged out of the pool and up to the house. Both went to change in their own rooms, but Peter went to check on Grace before going to sleep. He rapped on her door quietly. "It's Peter, can I come in."

"Sure." Grace's was sitting on the bed, rubbing her long hair with a towel.

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright." He peeked at the floor, saw Grace's fully packed bag, and said jokingly, "hey, you're not still thinking about leaving us tomorrow, are you?" When she couldn't meet his eyes, Peter realized he had hit the mark. "Oh no Grace. We've been over this."

"I can't stay forever, Peter."

"Doesn't mean you have to leave soon. I know that you're used to being alone, but isn't it nice to be around people you can trust and talk to? People you can…" 

"Become attached to?" Grace regretted the words as soon as they came out of her mouth. Not only because they were true, but also because it made Peter's eyes gleam a little in a way that made her heart beat a little faster. And she knew better then to like such things.

"So you do care." Peter tried to play the sentence cool or funny, when in his head he wanted it to sound a little more serious. "At least promise me that you won't leave tomorrow?"

"I make no promises, Peter."

"Fine then." Peter turned on his heels and left the room. A minute later he returned, pillow and blanket in hand. Grace stared at him from her bed as Peter shut her door and began to lie down in front of it.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Peter looked up at her with a grin. "I'm going to sleep right here to make sure you don't leave." 

"But you sleep like the dead. I could step right over you."

"Not going to happen. We're connected Grace, I'll know."

"Whatever Peter." She shut off the light. "Goodnight."

Grace shut her eyes and tried to sleep, but a few minutes later a voice interrupted her drowsy. "You know, the floor is very hard and uncomfortable."

"Is that so?"

She heard the impatient rustling of cloth and limbs. "I think this is the part where you invite me up to sleep in the bed because I'm being so nice. Totally chaste, of course."

"I'm sure it is. But the only bed you're getting into tonight, if you want, is your own."

There was a short silence, and some more movement. But to Grace's surprise, Peter didn't leave. "Goodnight Grace," he said sleepily, and a few minutes later his breathing evened out and she knew he was gone. Grace stayed up longer, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince herself first to run, then to stay, then back again. As she finally lost herself to dreams, Grace lingered on the word that had eluded her for over ten years.

Home.

_Next chapter… an offer… a dance… and a return!_


	10. Chapter 10

_Well, it appears that some people still want to read this story. If you are not one of them, fine. But I enjoy it. It's nice to be back, and I hope you enjoy._

Chapter 10

A week passed without incident. Routines were established. Schedules kept. And while everyone seemed to be happy to return to normalcy, Peter watched helplessly as Grace shrank away from him. They didn't talk anymore, even though he still slept on ground in front of her door every night.

"Yeah, you probably shouldn't do that anymore," Claire commented one day as they longed by the pool reading.

Peter set down his book. He'd only gotten through about five pages in an hour anyway. "Why do you say that?"

"The line between stalker and friend can be easily crossed."

"You don't get it. She wants me there."

"Did she ask?"

"Not exactly."

"Stalker." Peter chuckled, but Claire's next words had a serious tone. "What do you know about her anyway?" 

"She's had it rough. Don't know much about her mom, but I know for a fact that her Dad is a piece of work. And you know some of the other stuff that's happened."

Claire nodded. "And?"

"I'm not telling you the other stuff." 

"From your dreams?"

"From our dreams, yes. What are you so worried about anyway?"

"I don't know, there's just something that's not… not right."

"You really don't know what you're talking about Claire."

"And you do? You can't know someone that well in two weeks." She turned on her side, sliding the sunglasses down her nose. "Peter, you know one of the things I really like about you?"

"Do tell."

"You have a big heart. And that is a great thing, because, well, look at what it appears we are fated to do, right? I bet you were that kid who brought home sick animals and tried to make splints out of toothpicks. But you can't bring any wounded thing home and hope that you can make it better."

"Grace is worth saving."

"Sure. But my question to you is, why do you have to do the saving? Do you love her?"

"No! We just have a connection."

"Through your powers. If she couldn't link up with you, then where would you be?"

Peter was a bit stunned. "I don't know. I suppose it's different when you can't keep secrets from each other."

"Everyone has secrets."

"You would know."

"What?"

Peter sighed, forgetting that he'd been invisible on the rooftop when Claire admitted she had been awake during her time with Sylar. "Look, I don't want to fight about this. If you're serious about our 'fate' or whatever, then start by being a hero and cutting Grace a bit of slack."

Claire glared at her uncle. "Stop sleeping under her doorway."

"No."

Claire smiled. "Stalker."

XXXXXXXXXX

"A ball?" Mr. Bennett asked incredulously.

"That's what he said."

"And to think I left my Cinderella dress back in Texas."

"We could go and get it," Hiro said kindly, but Claire just repressed a giggle and patted his arm.

"Look, I think it's really more of a fancy party. A fundraiser of some kind. I don't know. It was a little confusing on the phone. But what I do know is that he wants us all to be there and there will be tuxes." Peter explained as the clan sat in the living room later that day. "I don't really care what you guys decide to do, but I'm going. I want to support him."

"Me too," added Claire. Peter gave her a confused look. "I think it's probably time I apologize for the car."

Mr. Bennett considered the facts. "I don't know. It might be risky for all of us to move at once."

"Any more risky then for us to be split apart and weakened?" Suresh asked.

"You make a good point."

"I hate dressing up, but I'll go." Hiro chimed in.

"Then it's settled."

"But…" Bennett started.

"Aw come on Dad. I don't get a prom. At least let me have a shin dig." Noah couldn't respond. It was the first time she'd called him dad since he'd held her down in the back of the van.

"Fine."

"Excellent. Tomorrow we all go shopping." The men universally groaned. "Grace, you and I will have to pick out something nice together."

"We will?" She'd meant it to be a statement, but her surprise made it a question. Grace shot a look a Peter. But he just shrugged.

Everybody went off in different directions, leaving Peter and Grace alone in the living room. He sat on the couch next to her. "So, did you get your prom?"

"Well, yes. But it sucked. I was at a boarding school at the time, and it was drunken frat trust fund buffet. Not exactly a choice memory maker. You?" 

"I got stood up."

"Really?"

"Really. I had a crush on a girl, and I asked her to the prom. I got her flowers. I did everything right. I find out later that she just couldn't go through with it. Having such an important memory be attached at a guy like me. It's silly. It was just prom."

"Doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt."

"True."

"Maybe Claire's right."

"About what?"

Peter looked over at Grace. In the soft lamp light her features glowed. "Nothing."

"Do you think there will be dancing at the party?" she asked.

"Why?"

"It's not my favorite thing."

" Yes, I think there will probably be dancing."

"Oh."

"Can you dance?"

"Yes. But I don't like to anymore."

"Neither do I. So let's practice." Peter got up and extended a hand to Grace.

She shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Come on. You've been avoiding me all week. Rude even."

"And you guilting me now makes us even yes?"

"Indulge me. You can even tell me why you hate dancing."

Grace stood without using his hand. "Fine. But you won't like it."

They moved to the middle of the living room. Peter extended an arm out and Grace took it. She placed a hand on his shoulder, he wondered if her thumb had purposefully traced his collar bone. He put a hand on her hip in a quite gentlemanly place, but she couldn't help but notice how was it was. They swayed a bit and soon fell into a steady rhythm. It would have been perfect if Grace hadn't started explaining.

"When I was kidnapped, captured, they liked to get drunk and make me dance with them. And when I'd shove them away, it was just another reason for them to beat me." Peter stopped moving completely. "See I told you. Are we done?"

"No, it's alright." He began to move again, and Grace reluctantly followed. "Keep going."

"I don't like thinking about it."

Neither do I, Peter thought. "They didn't you know…"

"Rape me?"

It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "That."

"No. But they had done it to other people, and they showed me. That was enough." Peter could feel the memories starting to bubble to the surface. He tried to pull Grace a little closer, as if he could protect her, but she stopped him. "It's OK Peter."

"That's not too convincing."

"That's because it's not OK, not really."

"Then why did you say it?

"Because I keep hoping that if I say it enough, eventually it will come true."

"That's a bit absurd."

"Well, we can't all be in total denial land like you."

"What?"

"Well, you've made a pretty miraculous recovery from a literal and physical melt down." Peter looked away. "I know you haven't been talking about it all this week. But I also know it's in your dreams."

"Is it so hard to believe that I'm over this?"

"Yes."

Peter was getting agitated. "Whatever."

"Wow, perfectionism really does run deep in your family."

"And I suppose insanity is the hallmark of yours, considering your father."

Grace gripped his shoulder tightly, "Do not talk about things you don't understand."

"Same to you."

"I think we're done."

Grace tried to step away from Peter's grip, but he pulled her roughly closer, so he could speak quietly into her ear. "Do you want to know why I hate dancing?"

"Let me go."

"Dancing is all a game, isn't it? A lie. People don't want to admit that they want to be held or touched, because that shows weakness. So we make up this excuse to be near one another and sway to the music. It's pathetic."

"Then isn't it ironic, then, that we both hate dancing so, so much." In a flash, Grace had Peter by the throat. Even though he could have broken her grip easily he instead let her hip go as they stood deadlocked in the living room. "My mother was killed. My father abandoned me. The first person I loved tried to kill me, and a whole bunch of stuff in between. What's your excuse?"

"People shouldn't have excuses for their behavior."

Grace released her grip. "Then go outside and fly into the night sky, right now." Peters jaw tightened, but he made no effort to move.

"This isn't about me."

"Keep saying that Peter. Keep saying that and maybe it will come true."

"At least when things get better for me, I'll know how to appreciate it."

"I think you need to find a new dance partner." Grace began to walk away. "Stay out of my room."

Peter flopped down on the couch and closed his eyes. It seemed to him that everything in his life had to start out innocent then reveal itself to be more complicated than a labyrinth. His family. His powers. And now Grace. But Claire was right, he couldn't let her go, still wanted to help. He just hoped that his initial read on her wasn't wrong, that it wasn't too late.

For either of them.

XXXXXXXXXX

Asleep on the couch, Peter found himself in one of Grace's dreams again. He didn't exactly desire having this involuntary invasion occur, but it was better than letting her into his mind. Peter had asked Grace once why the memories they shared were always like being placed in a movie instead of a first person account from inside the memory holder's eyes. Grace had shrugged, "I don't know. Maybe they aren't really our memories, just recreations of the moment."

He scanned his surroundings carefully. It appeared that he was in a museum of some kind, large with highly polished wood floors and afternoon sunlight warmly highlighting small dust particles in the air. Peter began to walk around the room, looking at the pictures. It was a WWII exhibit.

"Stop fidgeting." Peter recognized that voice. He turned toward the tones, a man in his thirties in profile, but no, it couldn't be him. The man was too young, no beard, no defeated slouch, no bedraggled appearance. Peter almost walked away, but then, "Gracie…" A small girl, no more than nine or ten, swung using the man's arm as a brace to arch her back as far as it would go. She had one blue eye, the other green, and strawberry blonde hair. The man gave the girl a sharp tug, and she straightened up immediately. "What did I just say?"

"Sorry."

Claude placed a kind arm on Grace's shoulder as Peter went to stand behind the two. "You know," his tone was much kinder now, "most kids are sitting in school right now, bored."

"I wish I could be in school right now."

The man sighed, "I know."

"I really liked school. I got A's you know. All A's."

Claude chuckled, "You told me. But we've talked about why you can't go."

Grace nodded. "It's dangerous."

"That's right. So we keep moving, and I teach you everything."

"Everything? Dad, that's silly."

"Everything that's important." Peter smirked a bit.

"Hitler's important?"

"Very." Claude looked from his daughter back up to the poster on the wall. Hitler was shown standing in a car waving to crowds of the faithful. "You've been reading that book I got for you, right?"

"Of course."

"Then you know what he did."

Grace shuddered a little. "All those people."

"Do you know why?"

Grace thought for a moment, and Claude watched patiently. When had he stopped having patience, Peter wondered. "He… I don't know."

"Just because he thought he was right."

"But he was wrong."

"Hitler didn't think so. In his mind he was right, and people like you and me who felt the opposite way, were crazy. And if you were different, he eliminated you."

"Oh." Grace was quiet for a minute. "He would have killed people like us, wouldn't he?"

"Especially people like us."

"I'm glad he's dead."

"There are still people like him out there Gracie. People who would like nothing more than to hurt us or kill us. That's why we keep moving, that's why we keep going." Claude looked into his daughters eyes, bright and watering, and crouched down to put his hands on her shoulders. "I wish things were different. I tried so hard to make things different for you, and… one day it'll be better. And until that day comes, I promise you that nothing is going to happen to you. I can't let it happen to you too."

"It's OK dad."

Claude let go of his daughter with a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose with the back of his hand. "Why don't you go and explore." Grace began to walk away, "what's our rule?"

She didn't turn, "Stay where you can see me."

"Right, stay where…" but she was too far away to hear the affirmation, so Claude returned to reading the placard next to the picture.

Peter backed away from him slowly, stunned. Of all the words that Peter could conjure to describe Claude, 'loving' and 'father' were never on the list. But here he was, apparently a single parent on the run. From what?

Peter turned and followed Grace's path. Farther down the room she had enmeshed herself with a school group roughly her age. The students stood enraptured as a grandfatherly type in full military garb spoke, "…So that's when we got to a concentration camp. Does anyone know what a concentration camp was?" There was a chorus of yeses, and one no from a laughing boy who quickly thereafter had a terse conversation with his teacher. "Good good, you must all be paying attention in class. Now does anyone know what happened there?"

The teacher, young and severely dressed, released the arm of the laughing boy and piped in. "Mr. Garrison, I'm not sure that's an appropriate thing to discuss with children this age."

The officer nodded, "You're right. I was twenty Miss, and I was too young. I'm still too young."

"Is there anything else you can talk to my students about?"

"Actually," he reached under his cheap folding chair, "I did bring along my helmet. You guys can touch it if you want." The children pushed forward, finger straining past each other's heads and shoulders to be the first to touch the polished metal. Peter smiled at their exuberance. "Why don't we pass it around, huh?"

A boy got it first, turning it over in his hands. Then a girl got it, holding it in one hand as if the thing was radioactive waste. She reached out to hand the helmet on. Peter watched with interest as Grace held it reverently, resting it on her hand to appreciate the weight and heft of the object. Then she froze, a hand gripping the edge fiercely, her eyes dilating just a bit.

The officer looked at Grace and smiled. "I think that you ought to pass that on now."

Grace didn't respond. Peter's heart sank, and he invisibly moved through the crowd.

"Miss?"

Peter stood next to her, helplessly watching as a ten year old absorb the memories of a WWII vet who had liberated a concentration camp and lord knew what else. Grace began to cry, silently, her eyes focused in the distance. The other adults were exchanging worried glances at each other, and eventually another girl got angry and wrenched the helmet away, callously saying "Who taught you how to share?"

Grace stayed still for a moment. And then she began to scream. Not an angry scream, but one that came from deep in her gut. Grace screamed and screamed and screamed. The adults could only stare at each other confused.

Suddenly Claude was there. "What did I tell you, what did I tell you about being careful." He tucked her into his arms and carried her away with ease, rushing to a secluded and empty hallway. He quickly sat on the floor, Grace between his legs, her heaving chest on his stomach. "Shhh, shhhh." She was still screaming, and Peter guessed that Claude must have turned the pair invisible. Grace tried curl into a ball but Claude was stronger, hugging her to himself. Grace quieted a little, but then she suddenly began to scratch her arms with her finger nails, drawing small lines on blood. "No no Gracie, we don't do that anymore. Remember words, we use words. Tell me about it Gracie." He took her small hands in his own. "Tell me everything."

"No no no…"

"It's OK; it's going to be alright."

"No no no…"

They stayed like that for a while, each stuck in an endless loop of the same words and rocking. It was obvious this was not the first time they had been in this situation. Peter studied the pair. Claude's eyes had bags under them, he realized. And Grace, she was much smaller than the other children her age.

"See?" Peter whipped around. Now Grace was standing there, one arm scratching the other. "I'm cursed."

Peter tried to walk toward her, but she backed away. And before he could get any closer, everything faded to black.

XXXXXXXXXX

Peter awoke with a start, sitting up so hard and fast that he nearly threw out his neck. Rubbing hard, he bounded up the stairs to Grace's room. She was kicking in her sleep, one arm mercilessly tearing at the other. He turned on the side table lamp, and was sickened by the small drops of blood that had spattered on the comforter. With little thought to how it might look he climbed on top of Grace, using his legs to stop hers, and pinning an elbow under each hand. "Grace." He was forceful. "Grace wake up."

Her eyes flew open, and he let up a little on the pressure on her arms. Bad idea. Before he could even try to defend himself one of Grace's arms flew up, the butt of her hand catching him right in the nose, snapping the cartilage. Peter groaned and rolled away. Grace scampered from the bed, her eyes wild, pressing her back against a window.

"What the hell Grace."

"He, they…" she was babbling. "He buried the bodies… all the bodies… a woman couldn't find her baby… she was crying and…" Grace's breathing slowed, but remained hitched. Suddenly her eyes refocused a bit. "What happened?"

Peter's nose had finished healing, so he wiped the blood from his face with the bottom of his t-shirt. "You broke my nose."

"Sorry."

"Who did you think I was?"

"You shouldn't have touched me. I don't like being touched." It was Grace talking, but Peter had never seen her so on edge.

"I'm not just going to stand by and let you have bad dreams."

"Stop trying Peter. It makes you look pathetic."

Peter was taken aback. "What the fuck is this Grace?"

Grace ran a hand through her hair. "I'm going out."

She reached for her coat but Peter blocked the door before she could leave. "No you're not."

"Move."

"This isn't like you."

"You," she pointed, "don't know what you're talking about. Move."

Peter stood firm. He knew Grace. She would just calm down and go back to sleep.

She punched him again, a sucker right in the cheek that shook his teeth. Peter managed to stagger away enough for Grace to slide past him. She careened down the stairs, Peter right behind her.

She made it through the front door and out onto the street. Peter got within a few yards. "Grace, don't make me stop you."

Grace halted, breathing hard. The sun was rising in the distance, and she squinted at the brightness, rubbing her injured arm slowly.

Peter walked up next to her. "I could heal that."

"No."

"Don't be silly. It's got to hurt."

Grace ignored him. "I used to do it all the time. It'll heal on its own."

"But it doesn't need to."

"Peter, let it go."

They watched the sunrise on the horizon for minute. "I know that you've had to do a lot of stuff on your own. But you don't have to now."

"You're only saying that because your naïve."

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry."

He looked at her hard. "No you're not."

"You're right. But I'm right too."

"Do you hope for bad things to happen to you?"

"I don't hope for anything. Hope kills you, slowly, from the inside out."

"You don't really believe that. I don't get you Grace. Where is all of this coming from? I know we're both scared… but when we first met it seemed like…"

He could have said more, many more angry words. But their moment was interrupted by Suresh, standing on the doorstep, barefooted, gun in hand. "Grace? Peter?"

"Suresh?" Peter blinked in confusion. "Isn't it a little early for firearms?"

He lowered the weapon and walked toward the pair. "There was a commotion and the front door was wide open. Molly was scared that it was Sylar." He looked at Peter's bloody t-shirt and Grace's attire of pajamas and a too large leather coat. "What's going on out here?"

"Nothing," they said in unison.

"Sure. Breakfast's on." Suresh walked away. "When did this become normal?"

Peter sighed, "Let's go inside Grace."

She didn't say anything, just brushed past him and disappeared. Peter watched her go, then followed behind quietly.

XXXXXXXXXX

From behind a car he watched to two of them run from the house, then fight. It was working out, wasn't it? Almost too well. It made him smile to see Suresh immerge with a gun later. Like that fool could even find the trigger. And the parting comment about normal? Well, that would eat at her, he knew, he knew. She could pretend to be so calm or strong but he knew the truth, the awful truth. And before the day was over, he'd have her spilled blood as proof.

_To Be Continued…_

_Next time… Sylar's back! And more action!_


	11. Chapter 11

_Note: Please remember that I started to write this story before the second season. Any and all information from season two should be considered null and void. And as always, I do not own these characters._

Chapter 11

The first thing he was aware of was the light, tiny and unfocused. It seemed to penetrate his eyelids, so he tried to open them, but his vision didn't change. He tried blinking. Nothing. He tried again. Deep in his brain, in the backwards spot that understood the impossible, a place that had been working overtime lately, he realized that he had no eyelids at all. And the fact that his vision was so bad meant that his eyes themselves must not be all there either.

The stars, Peter realized, he was looking at the stars.

"Pothole!"

There was a large jostle and Peter awoke by knocking his head against the glass of the car window. Claire giggled, "Do you always fall asleep in the car?"

He looked over at his niece, sitting cross legged in the bucket seat of the van next to him. "When I sleep on the couch the night before, yes."

"What were you dreaming about? You kept twitching."

"I don't remember." Peter glanced back at Grace, who was sitting with Molly in the row behind him. She looked at Peter with hard doubt. On her lap a hand twitched as if it might rise in some gesture of comfort or explanation. But it didn't, and Grace simply turned to look out the window at the grey world.

No one talked for the rest of the ride.

XXXXXXXXXX

The mall was reasonable busy for a Friday afternoon, and Suresh and Noah argued about a parking spot. Peter was glad that Hiro hadn't come along, who had opted instead to jump back to Japan and pick up a suit there. It would have been too many spoons stirring the pot. They finally settled outside of a large, five story department store.

Once inside, it became apparent that the shopping duties would be divided by gender. Granted, Suresh did volunteer to do the fatherly thing and take Molly, but Claire interceded. "Look, I know you're only trying to do the right thing, but my question to you is how many dresses can you watch Molly try on?"

Suresh looked at her big eyes as he thought. "Three. Max."

"And how many do you want to try on Molly?"

"Lots!"

"See, you don't have the skills for this mission. Plus, you guys will get done way before us. Go and look at big screen TVs or something. We'll call you when we're done. OK?" Claire's eyes were pleading.

Suresh acquiesced to the idea. "Fine, but I want to leave before rush hour traffic."

Claire nodded and the trio of girls began to walk away. "Grace, wait," Bennett called. Grace dropped Molly's hand and trotted back to the men. "Watch out for Claire for me. She seems to be better, but… and if Sylar…"

"I will," was all she could think to say before rejoining Molly and Claire.

Peter waited until they were way out of ear shot before asking the question. "I'm surprised your both letting Claire and Molly go on their own so soon."

Suresh huffed good naturedly. "I suppose we could ask you the same thing of Grace." 

"I'm not her keeper."

"Look," sighed Noah, "I'm not overjoyed with this, but Grace raised a good point to me once. At some point you have to continue on with life. Besides, can you see Sylar attacking in a crowded mall?"

"I suppose not."

"Right. So let's go and get this over with." Bennett and Peter began to walk away. "You know, my wife used to by all my clothes. I never knew how nice that was until…Suresh? You coming?"

The man was standing in the middle of a busy foyer, his eyes still looking at the place where his daughter had left. "You said Peter, that Grace doesn't like to be touched?"

"Yeah."

"Then I wonder why she holds Molly's hand."

Peter stood next to his friend. "That's because Molly has good thoughts, happy memories, from being here with you."

"Grace told you this."

"More or less, yeah."

Suresh smiled. "That's something special, isn't it?"

XXXXXXXXXX

The curtain swished open. "What do you think of this one?"

Grace stuck her head out of her dressing stall. "Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"Lady of the night-ish."

Claire stepped up on a pedestal near the three-way mirror. "A vampire?"

"Try again."

Claire thought for a second before, "Oh."

"What's a lady of the night," mused Molly. They'd already spent a great deal of time picking out her dress, and now as Molly sat patiently as the big girls shopped she kept taking peeks inside the bag where her garment was, making sure it had not disappeared.

The women looked at each other, Grace's mouth opening and shutting once before saying, "It's…never you mind." Molly shrugged, digging into her purse for her DS and starting it up.

Claire turned back to the mirror. She smoothed the tight blue number on her legs. "Come out and take a better look. I don't think it's so bad."

Grace immerged, but picked her words carefully. "Well, it's a nice color on you, sure, but…"

"Yes…" 

"Well…"

"Oh just say it."

"I'm afraid that your boobs might pop out, aren't you?"

"Oh I don't know," Claire looked at dress from many angles, turning to see her back. "Well, there's only one way to tell for sure. My mom taught me this trick. Always lean forward and see if…oops, yeah, you're right Grace. Not the dress for me." She turned around. "But that might be the one for you."

Grace climbed on the vacant pedestal. The dress was simple, a rich purple satin, relatively high in the front, but dipping low in the back. She smiled a bit. "I like it. I'll take it." Grace stepped down quickly and went to go and change.

"Really? Do you want to try on any more?" 

"Not really."

Claire retreated to her own room, and began to get into another garment. "Come on. I'll feel weird trying on things while you wait."

"I can be an excellent helper. I'll hang stuff up."

"OK." Claire handed a dress and hanger through the velvet divider. "I've always liked shopping for clothes."

"Me too." Grace began to hang up the dress.

The sound of a zipper was heard. "You shop fast."

Claire opened the curtain, but Grace just shook her head, and Claire gave a bit of a huff.

"I do shop fast," Grace admitted. "Habit, I suppose. When my dad and I were moving around so much, he didn't like being in places with security cameras, or standing around when I was trying on stuff so I learned to be fast. I guess it stuck."

"That sucks."

Grace shrugged. "It's normal for me. Plus, we also stole most of the stuff we got, so we had to have the least amount of time in and out."

Claire opened the dressing room again, a look of genuine concern on her face. "That must have been really lonely."

"I like that dress Claire."

The blonde chose to ignore such a blatant brush-off. "Ya think?"

"I do."

The dress was a simple dark blue, with a full empire waist. "So do I." She paused, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Doesn't this seem like…" she adjusted a strap that was fine before, "like something that I should be doing with my mother."

"I don't know."

"She loved this sort girly beauty thing. I grew my hair out for her, so she could brush it. I hated doing that, you know. Didn't want to sit still. And now…But maybe one day things will change."

"Sure," Grace tried, but it was unconvincing.

Claire looked in the mirror. "No," she said firmly to the reflection, "no this is the way it is. No going back. It's funny; I never thought it was a very hard decision until now."

"The important things sneak up on us all."

"Yeah." Claire's three images jumped off the pedestal. "Who wants lunch?"

XXXXXXXXXX

"I mean guys, do you see the pixel quality here." Mr. Bennett put his hands on his hips. "It's phenomenal."

"Really Noah, it looks just like the other ones to me," Suresh sighed, rubbing his neck. They had been waiting for the girls at the electronics part of the department store for half an hour. Or, according to Peter and Suresh, forever and a day.

After the third HD television comparison, Peter leaned over and said quietly, "He's such a geek."

"I'm not sure how you can be saying that as an insult considering the present company."

Bennett adjusted his glasses. "I hear both of you, you know."

Now Suresh was splayed out on a couch, listening to Noah and an employee discuss… well he wasn't entirely sure. Peter tapped him on the shoulder. "The girls just called, they're upstairs having lunch. I'm going to check out the video games again."

Suresh could only half heartily wave and tilt his head back to rest on the couch. Shopping with Molly could be a pain, but was it any worse than this? Seriously?

He had only closed his eyes for a moment when the first scream irrupted from a short distance away. His eyes opened. Another and concerned voices. He and Bennett didn't even stop to share a comment before rushing to the disturbance.

Peter was lying on the ground, rocking fiercely, a syringe next to his feet. Noah tried to touch his shoulder, but Peter jerked back suddenly. "Stay away…must control…away." He had a faint glow.

"Who did this too you?"

"Who… do… you… think…"

Suresh picked up the syringe. "Fuck, I think he gave you enough of an upper to make an elephant go nuts."

"Call the girls now, tell them they're next." Noah demanded, taking off for the parking lot. "Bring Peter to the car. I'll get the shot guns."

XXXXXXXXXX

They sat in a corner booth of a dark and exclusive restaurant on the top floor of the department store that they had entered the mall through. A piano player sat taking orders even on a Friday, and everything was covered in worn leather.

Grace looked around with delight. "I went to the elevators and called the boys to tell them where we were. Apparently your father is torturing them with electronics. I can't believe we got a table here."

"The Petrelli name will get you far in this city," Claire said between the straw of her soda.

"It sounds like a dinosaur. Can we have cheeseburgers?"

The older girls tried not the laugh. "Sure, cheeseburgers for us all," declared Grace.

They ate ferociously and laughed easily with one another. A woman all wrapped in fur and pink lipstick stopped by their table, asking "Are you sisters?" This only made the trio laugh even harder.

Claire opened her mouth to speak to the woman, but was interrupted by the cell phone. "You just got saved by the bell." She flipped open the phone as the woman stalked away. "I hope you guys found some real nice tuxes because…"

"He's here. Peter's down for a few. Start walking toward the car. Stay in public places."

She closed the phone quickly, dropping it into her lap from nervousness. "We need to go."

"But I'm not done."

"Shut up Molly," Claire blurted before she could stop herself. She locked eyes with Grace. "We need to go. Now."

Grace nodded. They rushed as fast as they could without causing much commotion out of the restaurant. They made it without incident to the elevators and began frantically pressing the buttons.

"Shit!" Claire kept repeating under her breath, jamming the buttons over and over. She could feel her breath coming hard and fast. Don't panic, don't panic.

Grace touched a plant next to them and her eyes widened. "He heard when I called them, and now he's…" Grace quickly opened her purse and took out a small black device, then got down on one knee to see eye level with Molly. "Listen, when you get in the elevator, press the close door key and go to the lobby. Go to the car. Tell them we're taking the stairs."

"But…"

The elevator dinged.

Grace put Molly behind her in front of the door, Claire still pushing the buttons. "Stand close."

The doors opened.

"Hello lover." He smiled a bit, stepping one foot out of the box. "Going down?"

Grace grabbed his lapels and pulled him close. "Not yet." She jammed her stun gun in, and Gabriel shook violently. He fell to the carpet in a heap, and Grace shoved Molly into the elevator. "Push the button." Molly was crying, but she did as she was told, and disappeared behind the shiny doors.

"Come on," Grace tugged at Claire's arm. They ran toward the stairs but paused once they got inside, staring down all five flights to the concrete below. "Claire, you need to…" The door to the stairs flew open, sending Grace down the first half flight, making her bruised and disoriented, while Claire skidded into a near by wall. Undaunted she got up, ready to ram Sylar.

"Your hair, it really is beautiful." The comment only made her pause for a second, but that was enough. Sylar was upon her then, one hand choking her against the wall, another holding her stomach. "I've been doing some traveling Claire." His hand lit on fire, and the smell of delicious burning flesh filled his nostrils. "Met your biological mother. You two really do look alike. I wonder if you beg the same way." Sylar could see his hand disappearing into Claire's flesh. "Do you think you could do that for…"

There was a great ripping sound, and Sylar turned just in time to see the detached piece of railing that broke his cheek bone and knocked him to the floor. He looked back to see Grace's out stretched hand and arm turn purple and bruised from the effort of throwing the metal. Claire scampered towards Grace on hands and knees, still unable to speak. "Claire go." Claire shook her head. Grace helped her to her feet, putting Claire's back against the railing. Using her good arm she shoved as hard as she cold, and Claire went tumbling down the center well, hitting her legs repeatedly, before landing square on the concrete below.

"That was selfless." He was right next to her then.

"You would know."

Sylar grabbed Graces injured arm harshly and tisked at the scratch marks. "I see we are still having some bad habits." He twisted the appendage harshly, creating a clean break. Grace screamed. "You should stop doing that. People will think you are crazy. Let's go to the roof." He hugged her close as they mounted the stairs. "I'll update you on what I've been doing since we last saw one another." Grace tried to concentrate on the pain in her arm, but Sylar memories invaded her senses.

XXXXXXXXXX

Noah Bennett's heart was beating fast, but his training was making his brain move faster. He gripped the gun tight enough to nearly snap the barrel as he wedged open the door to the stairs, just in time to see his daughter's body tumble and crash to the ground. She seemed dead for a moment, and then let out a large shuddering breath. Noah could hear voices above, and peak his head around the stairs to see Grace and Sylar heading toward the roof.

"Dad?"

He turned and knelt immediately. "Honey?"

"Help…Grace…"

"I…"

"Go…"

Without another word he began to climb, three steps at a time.

XXXXXXXXXX

Suresh figured out the hard way that Peter was extremely heavy. He got the young man under one arm and lugged him to the parking lot, not bothering to utter an explanation to the other confused customers. They somehow managed to get to the car. Noah was already gone, the trunk wide open.

Suresh dumped him into the back seat. "Peter? Come on now, it's time to heal."

Peter leaned his head against the headrest. His eyes were still screwed tightly shut. "Gonna explode."

"No." Suresh shook Peter's shoulders violently. "No exploding Peter. You must be stronger than this."

"Can't…"

"Dad!" Molly came running across the parking lot. Suresh collected into his arms and held her tight, before setting her down carefully. Besides the tears, she appeared unharmed.

"Molly, are you alright …"

"She pushed me into the elevator, and then I ran."

Suresh put his hands on Molly's cheeks, smearing her tears. "You did exactly what you needed to do."

"I could have helped."

Suresh shook his head. "No, there is nothing you could have done. Nothing."

"Is he going to kill them? Why is this happening again?"

"I…" Suresh couldn't answer. He looked back at Peter for some answers, but all that was left was an empty seat.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Do you remember the first time we met?" Grace didn't respond, as Sylar opened the door to the roof and cool air blew on the pair. "I do. You came into the shop and I thought to myself, isn't that something special." He touched her cheek. "And I was right. Though you kept your real specialness from me for a long time." His touch became more forceful, a thumb digging into her face next to her eye. "Why was that?"

"You're not the only one who has great perceptive. You couldn't handle it, you crazy asshole."

Grace felt a sharp knee to the gut, before being shoved to the ground. "And Peter Petrelli can?" She an invisible force quickly dragged her across the ground, scrapping her forehead. "Well, is he?"

Grace managed to get onto her knees, cradling her injured arm. "He certainly is handling it better than you."

"Ah, what is that I hear? Is that hope? I so thought you would have learned better." The door behind Sylar creaked open and Bennett stepped out. "Some things just can't be killed."

Mr. Bennett raised his gun. "I couldn't have said it better." He could feel his finger begin to press on the trigger, but before he could depress the thin metal his gun was wrenched from his hand and clocked him in back of the head. Noah fell to his knees hard, and looked up at the barrel of his own weapon.

"You're almost as stupid as she is," Sylar sneered, turning back to Grace. "You are stupid. And weak. You can stay with these people for as long as you like, think that they care for you. But how long before it all goes away? Before they realize that…" Suddenly Sylar stepped out of the way. Claire went hurtling past. She had obviously been trying to ram, but he'd figured it out. Her momentum kept her going and it looked like she was going to stop before the edge, but suddenly Claire was lifted off her feet, like a gust of wind had pulled her, and she went tumbling over side of the building, but no crash.

Sylar turned back to Grace. "You can end all this, just like we tried before," He took out a knife and threw it at her. "Or I end him."

"Grace, don't," Bennett pleaded.

"Save one family, one father."

Grace picked up the knife.

Noah thought of Claire, recovering on the floor of the ally behind the store. Claude had been so right all those years ago. "You're father sacrificed everything for your safety. Don't give up this easily."

She raised the knife to her throat. "Have a little faith."

The knife began to go in.

_To Be Continued…_


	12. Chapter 12

_Thank you to __marinawings_ _and __by7the7sea_ for_ their wonderful comments. If you like this story, then please show me the love. I'm going to try and keep writing as much as I can, but it my schedule comes and goes with how busy my students are. There is still a lot of story to tell. As always, these characters are not mine._

The world stopped. Hiro had once spoken about how this ability was so impressive they really needed to come up with a better explanation then a string of words that people used to describe when they saw a beautiful girl in a club or a sweet car. Because really, this was so much more.

Peter had opened his eyes in enough time to see Claire drop from over the roof of the store out of control. Without another thought he flashed himself to her, grabbed her mid air and flashed back into the car. They landed with a thud, gasping for breath. Molly was immediately in Claire's lap, crying. "I thought you were dead, I thought you were dead!"

"Shhh, no it's OK," Claire cooed, stroking the girl's hair gently.

"What's going on up there?" Peter demanded.

"Sylar has a gun; he's got dad and Grace on the roof. I tried…"

"I know."

She looked at Peter intently. "Why are you still…?" He didn't bother to hear the last part.

The world stopped.

There was Sylar, tall and proud, but, as Peter noticed with slight glee, still one handed. However, that one hand held a shot gun, the trigger depressed.

There was Mr. Bennett; head still intact, leading Peter to believe that by some miracle the bullet was still in the barrel. He had one arm outstretched.

Toward Grace. Peter stumbled when he saw her, repulsed at the large amount of blood that immerged from where the tip of the knife had entered her neck. It was just beginning to stain her shirt.

This, of course also complicated things a great deal. Whatever he was going to do to Sylar, it would have to be quick, because Grace wouldn't last long once the world started again.

He wouldn't be able to kill him. But looking at Sylar's face now, it seemed more real than ever that eventually one would take out the other.

Peter braced his legs and held out his arms, letting his hand squeeze and flex once before latching one onto Sylar's jacket, and the other on the gun.

The world went black and then became starkly bright as both men tumbled onto the sand, the gun discharging harmlessly into the white grains. Sylar immediate raised the weapon, but only received a clicking sound for his trouble. Peter grabbed Sylar by the collar and reared back, "One day, I'm going to kill you." Sylar flinched for the punch, but it never came.

He was alone. Again.

XXXXXXXXXX

Blood was everywhere, gushing crimson currents that warmed his fingers as it spurted through the digits. But that wasn't what concerned Peter. It was the gurgling noises that Grace was making. He wasn't sure if she was trying to talk, or if the vibrations he kept feeling were just her feeble attempts to breathe. Suddenly his powers kicked in and he felt the blood flow stop. He took two slippery fingers and was relieved when he felt a pulse. The whole ordeal took maybe thirty seconds, but really time had stopped.

He sat back on the ground with a thud, breathing heavily, leaving one hand on Grace's neck, stroking the skin over and over as if to check that she was indeed healed. Grace stared at the sky, concentrating all her energy on the rise and fall of her chest.

Everyone was silent for a moment. After all there's no rules about how to more foreword from something like this.

Peter looked over at Mr. Bennett, as if just realizing that he was there. "Claire, I… caught her. She's down in the car. She's fine."

"Sylar?"

"Gone, for now."

"Where?"

"An island off the coast of Australia where I used to vacation when I was a kid. It was the first place I could think of."

"Nice. I should get back to the car. Do you think we can get Grace there?"

Peter looked down at her and cringed inwardly. "She's lost a lot of blood, and I don't think my healing replaced everything she lost."

"Grace, can you get up?"

Graced managed to get one arm under neither herself, but she couldn't sit up, roughly falling back to the craggily roof. "Sorry."

"No it's alright. Peter, you teleport Grace home. I'll go down to the car and drive."

Peter nodded, collecting Grace awkwardly into his arms, her body virtually dead weight. "I'll try to get her cleaned up a little before Molly can see her. Tell Mohinder we might need to do a blood transfusion when you get home."

Noah nodded and ran to the stairs without even checking that they left.

XXXXXXXXXX

He had aimed for the living room, but they ended up a pile in the kitchen, Peter uncomfortably on top of Grace's back. She gave a muffled yelp and he scampered off. "What is it?"

Grace rolled over a bit so she was half sitting against the wall. "My arm. I think he broke it."

Peter touched the scratched, bruised, and broken appendage carefully. Grace hollered when he tried to turn her wrist. "Sorry, sorry. May I…" Grace nodded, and closed her eyes. "I can't believe that I didn't think about this before."

"It's alright," she said, her voice weak, "you had other pressing concerns."

"How did you know that I was coming?"

"When I didn't hear Claire hit the ground, I just assumed."

"That was pretty gutsy move."

"Who knew I had it in me."

Peter laughed hoarsely as he released her arm. "Is there anything else that I need to…?" Grace shook her head. "How are you feeling?"

"Groggy and a little cold."

"That's probably from the blood loss. We need to get you warmed up."

Grace caught her own reflection in a glass door and gulped. "Is all of that mine?"

The young man nodded. "That's what happens when you cut the important lifelines in your body." Peter grabbed her now healed arm and started to coax her to her feet. "Come on, I have an idea."

Grace was able to stand on one heave, though very uneasily, her body cradled under one of Peter's strong arms. "Important life lines? Did they teach you that in nursing school?" They were at the door to the back porch now, and Peter was able to drag Grace through with some semblance of dignity and drop her in a lawn chair. Her head lolled back. "You didn't answer my question."

Peter shrugged and undid the clasps of the hot tub. "I don't know. I didn't like nursing school all that much."

"I know you didn't."

"Of course."

"Then why did you go?"

"Because Nathan was the success and I was supposed to get by." He shoved the lid off much harder than necessary. "Why did you become a teacher?"

"Because Bennett said I could either do that or move to Europe… And I thought that if I moved to Europe then he'd never find me again…."

"Who?"

"My father."

Peter rubbed his eyes. It wasn't like Grace to be this forthcoming with personal information, and he supposed that the lack of blood was making her a little uninhibited. He gave her arm a tug. "Come on, into the tub. It will make you feel better."

"My clothes."

"Are ruined anyway. And I'm sure as hell not stripping you."

"Cheeky." Grace stood up and tottered to the edge, swinging one leg in at a time. Peter removed his jeans and hopped in. He helped her slide carefully into the water. Grace tried sitting on her own, but she kept nodding off and slipping under. So Peter sat next to her, an arm around her shoulders. After a minute Grace's head rested on his arm, and a tired hand brushed the side of his leg. "Stop feeling guilty."

"I don't…"

"When you healed me on the roof, and we linked up, you kept thinking about how guilty you felt that we had fought this morning."

"I didn't want it to be the last thing…"

"Peter," Grace yawned, her voice growing sleepy, "nothing is guaranteed."

"I know but…" Her breathing has evened out, and Peter rested his head on top of hers.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Peter."

The boy didn't respond.

"Peter!" The woman came in, refastening her earring. Even her presence made Grace feel uncomfortable, much less her rather stringent hair and dress. Though she was much younger, Grace could recognize her from the photos around the Petrelli home. "Peter!"

"What mom?" He was reading a book, curled up on a reading cove, eyes not moving from the page.

"We're missing you at the party."

"I doubt that. It's not like the party's even for me."

Angela took the book from her son's hands, ignoring his angry glance. "You need to support your brother."

"Isn't that what the other guests are doing?"

She took in a sharp breath. "He wants you there, darling."

"He's talking with his friends. He never talks to me anymore."

"Well if you complain this much when you speak to him, what do you expect?" She hung out the jacket that had been sitting on a nearby chair, and Peter reluctantly put his arms through. "Look honey, when you graduate college, you can have a fun party too."

"I don't want to go to college. I want to travel."

Angela sighed, dusting nonexistent lint off her son's back. "Oh Peter. What are we going to do with you?"

XXXXXXXXXX

"Peter!"

He awoke with a start, eyes taking a while to adjust to the frothy water. It was a light shade of pink now, running much blood off him and Grace's clothes. Mohinder and Noah were helping Grace over the side of the tub, despite her claims of being just fine. Claire was next to his shoulder, a concerned look on her face.

He ran a hand through his hair. "I must have fallen asleep."

She touched his cheek. "That's OK. Come on, you should get changed." The group retreated inside, not a word spoken, each person scattering to their own room.

The light of the day faded from the windows as Mohinder watched from Molly's bed. She'd been crying, big gapping sobs at first, until her throat became sore, and she was left to gasps, then muted sobs, like a constant hum. He'd had to touch her. Just being in arms' length was not good enough. He needed her to be close, her hands clutching his skin and clothing a comfort to both. The actions, cleaning her, feeding her, putting her to bed, it was not him, an auto pilot. He'd climbed into bed next to her, her small head and soft hair on his lap, one hand stroking gently. Had his father held his sister like this once, he wondered. Had this been the way he'd watched her die?

Long after the lamps cast shadows, and Molly's breathing had created a steady pace, Suresh untangled himself from the girl's grasp and went downstairs to the living room, his anger and logic wrestling greatly. There was a silence when he entered the room, but not because of his appearance. Everyone except Grace was there, staring blankly at a sword swaying slowly from where it was lodged in the wall. Across the room stood Hiro, chest rising and falling in short angry bursts.

Noah turned his head a bit. "We just told him."

"I'm going to fucking kill him."

Peter smiled ruthlessly, "Get in line."

"Fine, whatever. But leave me out of it." Heads swiveled and watched as Suresh calmly walked over and yanked the sword from the wall, gripping the handle tightly as he paced across the room. "You said once, Hiro, that your father would be willing to help me if I ever needed to find some safety."

"Yes."

"I'd like to take you up on that offer."

"Wait a minute," Bennett said, unwinding his arms from around his chest.

"I'm done. Out. I can't put Molly through any more of this. You should know."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Suresh looked at Claire a little too long. "You tried Noah, I know, and…"

"And what?" Claire was indignant and on her feet.

"This isn't about you."

"Like hell it isn't."

"This lifestyle Claire," Suresh said gesturing around to the people in the room. "Look what it is doing. Look what it's done."

"What. I've come out so messed up that you just can't risk it. That we're all just becoming crumbling freaks."

"Well…"

"I think he's talking about me." They looked at the voice on the stairs. Grace took the last step a little uneasily, and Peter moved to offer her an arm but she brushed it off.

"I'm going," Suresh reiterated.

"That would be a bad idea." Grace intoned.

"Back off Grace," he snarled. "I can avoid the mistakes that have been made before."

Noah shook his head. "No, you can't."

"And what would you suggest I do? Stay? Fight?"

"Yes."

"Why? It can't be because it's gone so well so far. I can get things going."

Grace walked toward him. "Maybe. You're just at the beginning. Wait for it. Wait for the next time you have to move, and the time after that, and the time after that. Wait for all the times you have to cut and die her hair, force her to wear contacts to change her eyes. Names and histories. The first time you have to leave her behind to do something dangerous. The forth. Wait, and tell me later. My father was trained. Excellent. So was Bennett. They tried to do this alone. And look at Claire and I." She quickly looked at the younger girl. "No offense."

"None taken," Claire said, obviously hurt a little.

"Don't blame your issues on moving all the time, Grace." Mohinder pointed at her. "Your powers…"

"Create problems."

"I was going to say make you most likely to be in a straight jacket."

"Back off Suresh." Peter warned.

"Oh, I'm sorry have I given her your rightful title? We wouldn't want to forget about poor Peter, who was raised with everything, given everything in life."

"Whatever," Peter grumbled. "Look, it may be trite, but I really think that the idea of safety in numbers is the best plan right now."

"I'm sorry; did you witness a different face off with Sylar back in the Plaza? How many of us were there exactly?"

"It doesn't matter now."

"It does matter, because you couldn't finish the job. Maybe you didn't want to, just so you can have some purpose in life."

"Screw you."

"No Peter, screw you. Or better yet go and screw Grace and get over it." Grace and Peter looked at each other, and then looked away.

"Enough," shouted Bennett. "Listen Mohinder, I understand what it's like to love a little girl, and look in her eyes and want nothing more than to take away all the pain and confusion in her life." He looked over at Claire. "And I know that I've made mistakes."

"So now you know better. Typical."

"No. But I can recognize the same mistakes when I see them. And the only thing that I can do is try to stop others from repeating my mistakes."

This answer did not satisfy. "What about you Hiro?" Suresh looked a bit wildly at him. "You seem to have come out relatively normal."

Hiro nodded. "As normal as normal can be, I guess."

"So it can be done." 

"Don't fool yourself. Distance probably helped me the most, but I can't deny that lies, many deep lies, created my world as well. Mohinder, if you want, I can contact my father and arrange things. But Grace has a point about running. It is a wonder how long we can do it before we leave ourselves behind completely. And if you stay here, I promise you that I will do everything in my power to keep Molly safe."

"I don't care. I'm going."

"No one leaves." Claire's words surprised. "No one else leaves. I've lost one family. I'm not losing another."

Mohinder rolled her eyes. "Don't be childish, Claire."

"News flash, Mohinder. I may not exactly be a child, but Molly is. And she has had enough moving in her life. You want to do right by her, don't let her go. Because when you do, the things that happen…" Claire began to cry, and her father quickly wrapped her arms around her. "He…dad…he…"

"Shhh, shhh, it's alright."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Grace watched father and daughter carefully, her jaw tightening. "Look, if you want the truth Mohinder, Molly is probably low on Sylar's priority list right now. He wants to kill me more than any of you."

"Fine. Pack your shit and leave us all in peace."

"No one else leaves." Claire declared.

"Look, why does everyone suddenly think we're all fated to be apart, when it's so apparent to me that we're meant to be together." Hiro tried. Grace drew in a shaky breath and went back up the stairs unsteadily but with speed.

"Shut up Hiro," Mohinder said, but the words lacked punch. "I should go and check on Molly," was all he said before retreating.

Hiro looked at his sword. "I need to go practice."

"It's late Hiro," Peter tried to comfort him.

"Do you know you are going to be ready next time? I need to go practice." He left.

Peter rose to his feet, looking over at Noah and Claire on the couch. He had his arm around her, his hand rubbing her arm gently. Her head was buried in his shoulder. She wasn't crying anymore. Peter wanted to sit down with them, bask in the glow of their love. But the moment wasn't for him.

XXXXXXXXXX

He found her sitting in her room by the window, turning a stone in her hands. Peter sat on the bed, but she didn't acknowledge his presence. "He gave this to me after I had recovered from being kidnapped. We were on a beach, it was warm and sunny, clear sky. We sat for hours and hours, not talking, just holding hands with this rock between our palms. I knew it was over, but he couldn't say it. Back at the hotel, I fell asleep on his arm. When I woke up the next morning, he was gone."

"Was that the last time you saw him?"

She looked back at him. "No, but it was the last happy time, I can tell you that."

"So that's why you carry that rock around with you."

Grace weighed the stone on her hand. "When I hold it, all I feel is all the love he had for me."

"Has for you."

"Sure." Grace got to her feet and teetered to the bed.

"Grace, about what Mohinder said…"

"Don't worry about it."

"How are you feeling?"

"Better. How's Claire?"

Peter smiled, "Asleep downstairs on her father's shoulder."

Grace smiled back. "That's nice. It's been a while since I've had that."

"Me too." They looked at each other carefully, as if unsure how the conversation should continue. Peter took the easy route. "I still think that you should get a blood transfusion."

"Maybe tomorrow. Scoot, I'm going to sleep."

Peter crawled across to the other side. "Alright, but I'm staying here in case there is a problem."

Grace turned off the light next to the bed. "Whatever, I'm too tired to fight you tonight."

They lay for a while on their backs, staring at the ceiling. "I can't believe that Mohinder said those things."

Grace rolled on her side, away from Peter. "He's pretty brave."

"Why?"

"He asked the question. How is it going to end?"

"Yeah. I think about it sometimes, you know…it's hard and…I need to know something. When you were sitting on that roof, almost slitting your throat, did you ever hope, even for an instant, that I wouldn't get there in time?"

Pause. "No." Pause. "When you exploded, did you want, even for a second, to not come back?"

Pause. "No." There was too much time between the answers to have it be the complete truth.

The bed shifted, and suddenly Grace felt an arm go around her waist and pull her close to Peter's back. She stiffened a bit as his head rested on hers, his lips next to his ear. "Let's rest our heads tonight, and I promise that I won't talk about it tomorrow, like this never happened."

Grace put her hand on Peter's arm and relaxed back into his chest. "Like it never happened."

They slept deeply.

_To Be Continued…_

_Next time: Sylar and Grace, a history lesson_


	13. Chapter 13

_Hello again. Sorry for the late update. For those who don't know, I'm a teacher, and sometimes my workload gets a little…crazy. Plus, this chapter, and the next, are two I've been planning since I started this story, and I wanted to make sure I got it right. A lot of people criticized Grace, and in some ways they were right. But I knew from the start that I wanted her to seem strong at the beginning and then start to unravel. I hope this helps, since I have a lot of story to go._

Gabriel Gray had been working on the watch since the morning, and yet now with the light of early afternoon coming through the front window, he still didn't have it right. He rubbed the bridge of his nose where his magnifying glasses pinched and sighed. He touched all the pieces again, as Peter watched, and thought.

He didn't notice the bell when it dinged signaling visitors. "Gabriel?" He picked up a small gear. "Gabriel? You here?"

"Yeah."

A young blonde came in bouncing, a paper sack in her hand. She shoved it on the desk with little thought. "Gabriel Gray, when is the last time you saw the sun?"

He pointed to the window without looking up. "Oh look, the sun."

"I mean outside, silly."

"Did you bring my sandwich?"

"Yes, and a friend as well."

"Unless your friend has a clock…"

"Sorry, no clock."

He looked up then, and saw Grace. She had long hair, brown as it was now, and two brown eyes. Compared between the two, the blonde was by far more beautiful. But Peter could see that special thing in Grace that drew him to her still. And it was obvious that Sylar, no Gabriel, did as well. He stared at her with persistence, Adam's apple bobbing.

"Gabe," the blonde said perkily, "I'd like you to meet Grace."

Grace waved small. "Hi."

"She's working in the deli shop part time, with me, and the antique store down the street in the afternoons."

"Alison's been nice enough to show me around," Grace explained.

"I see."

There was an uncomfortable silence. The blonde became uncomfortable, and put her hair into a pony tail. "Well, I guess we should be going. Grace is going to be making your deliveries from now on."

"Fine." Gabriel turned back to his work.

Alison grabbed Grace's arm. "Let's go. I'm sorry; he's not very social in the talking area."

"That's alright, some people talk too much." They left.

Gabriel smiled, just a little.

XXXXXXXXXX

The bell dinged. "You're late."

"You're surrounded by things that tell time. I don't think I can win."

"That doesn't matter."

"Whatever."

A soggy bag was placed on his desk and Gabriel looked up. Grace was drenched from head to toe, her shirt nearly soaked through. "It's raining outside."

"Observant, that's what you are. But really it's more of a nice November sleet."

Gabriel rolled his eyes a bit, but got up from his seat and got a towel. "If you knew me better, then you would know that I am observant about a great many things."

She took the towel, "well if you said more than ten words to me a day I might have figured that out."

"I'm sorry, but I don't see you being all bubbly and cheerful when you come in here."

Grace dried her hair as she spit her words. "I didn't think you liked people like that."

"I don't."

"So why in the hell are we arguing?"

Gabriel sighed and stared at the girl. "I'm sorry. I'm not very good with people. Or so I've been told."

"Me too."

"By choice or by nature?"

Grace sat down in a chair, considering the question while pulling off an equally soaked shoe and sock. "A little of both, I suppose."

"Me too." Gabriel sat down and watched Grace strip off her other foot's attire. "I'm sorry."

"You've already said that."

"I know. I just don't want you to start delivering dead rats instead of sandwiches."

Grace thunked another deli bag down on the table. "Make it up to me. Invite me to lunch."

"I don't think…"

"Because I'm not leaving until my shoes are dry anyway."

Gabriel frowned, but looked away a bit embarrassed. "I'm sorry your other friends…"

"What other friends?"

He looked at her, surprised. "I had just assumed you had people you normally ate lunch with."

"No friends. It's easier that way."

Gabriel opened his mouth to say something else, but reconsidered. He ripped the lunch sack and took out his sandwich. "No umbrella either, apparently. Do you have a dislike of them as well?"

"Har har. No, I just moved here and…"

XXXXXXXXXX

There was a light snow falling outside the window of the shop, and Peter could see twinkling lights.

"So are you going home for Christmas?"

Grace turned from the clock she was studying as Gabriel sat down the tray of soup on a small table. She sat down and pulled a bowl toward her. "No, just staying here, picking up some extra hours."

"What about your family?"

"I'm it."

Gabriel stirred his soup, watching the heat rise from it. "What happened?"

"Mom died when I was eight, Dad when I was fourteen. If there was ever anyone else, I didn't know about them."

"What did your father do?"

Grace twitched a little. "Traveling salesman. We moved a lot, he worked for many different companies."

"Maybe he was a secret agent?" Gabriel offered, wiggling his large eyebrows. Grace choked a bit on her soup, bringing the napkin hastily to her mouth. "It sounds exciting."

"Please trust me when I say, that it wasn't."

"It must have been better than this," he gestured around the shop. "A person lives all his life in one place doing the same thing. It all seems pretty boring to me. My mom, she says I could be so much more. Expected me to be so much more."

"Everyone disappoints their parents."

"Yeah, but what about disappointing themselves?"

Grace reached across the table and touched Gabriel's hand. He pulled it back slowly letting her fingers glide off his. "For what it's worth, I wouldn't come and eat lunch here if you weren't interesting."

"It's worth something. Coming from you at least. I don't get you."

Grace scrunched up her nose. "Excuse me?"

"No, no, it was a compliment," Gabriel backtracked. "I…well the thing that has always…I can tell how things work, OK, I'm good at that. Always have been even when everything else is…not. And I don't get you."

"Well now, Mr. Gray, that is one of the nicer compliments I've ever heard."

"You must not receive many compliments."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Grace?"

"Back here."

Gabriel wound his way through the old furniture to a back room, discarding his scarf and gloves as he went. "I was worried you wouldn't be here."

Grace was bent over a table, examining its carved top. "I always work late on Tuesdays."

"But it's Valentine's Day."

She straightened up and dusted off her hands. "And what, you thought I had a hot date or something?"

"Well I…" Gabriel looked around the room, mercifully searching for a way to change the subject. "So is that table really valuable?"

"Nope. It's a fake."

"How do you know?"

Grace ran a hand over its surface. "Lots of little things, and internet research."

"And you said that you have a knack for history."

"You could say I have a knack, yeah." Grace studied a particular carving on the table of a rose its petals nearly hiding a very large thorn. "That I do." She dislodged her eyes from the table and looked at Gabriel. "So what's up?"

"I just thought I'd stop by and give you this." He pulled a small white bear from his jacket pocket and handed it to Grace. "If you don't like it then you know…" She took the bear appreciatively. It held a little puffy heart in its hands, inscribed with the words 'You're Special.' "It's dumb right? I should go." He turned to leave hastily, and took a hanging lamp to the head for his trouble. "Shit." Grace laughed a bit, as Gabe rubbed his head. "You're laughing at me now. Wonderful."

"Come on, let me see." Grace set the bear down on the table and took Gabriel's head into her hands, one palm on his cheek, and the other's fingers gently touching his forehead. "I think you'll survive."

"I feel like an idiot."

Grace positioned both hands on either side of his face so he couldn't look away. "I like the bear. It's nice."

"It was three dollars."

"It's the thought Gabe." Grace pulled down his face a little as she rose on her toes and kissed his forehead. "It's the thought."

Gabriel closed his eyes, snaking one hand up around Grace's neck. He leaned down and brushed his lips across Grace's carefully. When she didn't pull back he pressed harder. Her arms went around his neck and he pulled her close.

XXXXXXXXXX

"I liked the movie a lot. I didn't think I would, but you were right."

"Teach you to listen."

Grace gave his arm a liberal shove. "Hey now, just because my taste in movies isn't as refined as yours doesn't mean I carry around a club and drool."

Gabriel trudged up the last stair of many and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I suppose so."

They stared at each other, unsure. "Do you want to come in for a minute?" Graces asked unsteadily, staring at the door knob.

"Do you really want me to?"

Grace's back stiffened. "Well, it's pretty obvious that you don't want to, so…" she kept jamming her key into the lock with little success. "I think maybe you should leave."

"No, Grace, I just…"

"No, no. You know it's OK. I'm an idiot, an idiot. You said the kiss was a mistake, and silly me." She dropped the keys with frustration. "Fuck, what is wrong with my lock."

"Would you just stop for one minute?"

"Why?"

He kissed her again, with none of the timidity of the first time, crushing her smaller body to his own. When they separated, only by inches, to catch their breath, Gabriel managed to say, "I lied about kissing you."

Grace put one hand inside his winter jacket and touched his collar bone. "I know you did."

"How?"

She smiled thinly, "woman's intuition."

"I would like to come in."

"Good."

XXXXXXXXXX

"I wish you wouldn't do that." Gabriel was lying in bed, watching Grace take out her contacts.

She sighed. "It's not like I can just show up to work tomorrow with different eyes."

"Yes you could."

"We've been over this before."

"So."

Grace sat on the bed. "I can't, I just… can't."

"I'll protect you."

"Gabe…"

"So beautiful," he touched her face, "just like this."

Grace climbed closer, straddling his lap and kissing him deeply. He chuckled, pulling her shirt off before she could discard his. He kissed her neck lovingly, and Peter had to turn away as Gabriel's hands pushed along the paths of the unblemished flesh of Grace's back.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Let's watch _Law & Order_."

"No."

"Why not?"

"A," he grabbed a handful of popcorn, "we've seen almost every episode. And B, I always guess the end. It's boring."

"Fine then."

"That's what you get for dating a genius."

Grace stuck out her tongue.

XXXXXXXXXX

She sat by the window with all the lights off, her head against the window. She wore an oversized fleece, obviously his. Her knees were near her chest, and every once in a while she gave a little sniff and rubbed her nose. It sounded like Grace had a cold, but Peter knew better.

"Hey." Gabriel shuffled into the living room, shirtless.

"Hey yourself."

"Why aren't you in bed?"

"Bad dreams."

"About what?" She looked back outside. "I could give you a back rub." He reached out, but Grace retracted. "Or not."

"I'm sorry; sometimes I just don't like being touched."

"I know." He sat down in a nearby chair.

"You should go back to bed. One of us should get a good night's sleep."

"I don't mind."

They sat in silence for a while. "These dreams and migraines, they aren't going away."

"I'm patient."

XXXXXXXXXX

She held the postcard in her hand tightly; her steps faster than normal down the sidewalk. It was getting dark, and a young woman would normally not be walking in this part of town by herself. But Grace seemed unafraid of the forces around her as she climbed the steps up to the third floor of the parking garage and walked to a corner.

"Dad?" There was a slight shimmer next to a post, and Claude came into her vision. "Dad!" She ran to him and flung her arms around his neck. He clutched to her as well, and Peter saw for the first time a unique melting and emotion on Claude's face, like he rarely let himself indulge in such feeling.

"Hey sweetie. Happy birthday."

"Thanks, though it would be nice to celebrate my actual birthday one year."

"Yeah, it would." He held her at arm's length. "Look at you, growing up so fast."

"If you made the effort to come and see me more, it wouldn't be such a surprise. How long have you been in the city?"

"Do you really want to know the answer to that question?"

"I guess not." There was an uncomfortable silence, and Grace took a step away from her father to look out over the city outlined by an almost set sun. "So, why the meeting Dad?"

"I've been watching you."

"Most people would be a little creeped out by that statement you know. Probably a good thing that you don't date."

"Grace, I'm trying to be serious."

"Alright then." She looked back at him, the breeze making her hair drift just a little.

He swallowed hard. "Like I said, I've been watching you. Or really, your boyfriend."

"Oh?"

"I don't like him."

She turned away from him. "Huh."

"There's something there Gracie, something not quite right."

"No."

"No? What do you mean no?"

"I mean no, you don't get to come in here and tell me what to do any more."

"Excuse me?"

"You don't get to pick and choose when you are my father or not."

"Grace…"

"He loves me. He takes care of me. When I wake up in the morning, he's there."

"And when you go to sleep, he's there. And at work. And on the weekends. It's a bit much. And your apartment…"

"You've been in my home?"

"Oh don't be so surprised."

"Surprised? How can I be surprised at anything that happens in my life anymore?"

"What? Do you want pity?"

"Of course not."

"Well then… your apartment," Grace rolled her eyes at the tenacity of her father's questioning, "it's so ordered. There is such a thing as too much precision."

"All I'm hearing from you, father," Claude cringed, "is that I have a hard working and neat boyfriend who obviously cares about me. Yes yes, I can see why that is such a problem."

"This attitude is childish Grace. You are a smart, perceptive person. Look me in the eye and tell me there has never been a moment, a single memory gleaned from a touch, which has seemed off or odd or strange. Look me in the eye and tell me that."

There was a short pause, and Grace looked away. "I love him."

Claude rubbed his forehead. "I know you do. But you didn't answer my question."

"I love him. He loves me. That's good enough. It's not like I'm perfect. Like I don't have secrets to keep."

"How long, exactly, do you think you can keep your secrets from him? No one like us can hide in plain sight forever. It's not safe."

"I've done it my entire life and it's worked out."

"It's worked out so far, Gracie, so far. And it hasn't been easy."

"What do you want me to do? I can't grow to be old, alone, and bitter like you."

He didn't flinch at her icy words, but Peter found it hard to believe that they didn't sting. "There are others Grace, other children of the first generation, about your age, who haven't been marked or found out yet. You need to wait…"

"I can't wait anymore. I can't wait to feel safe and happy. I waited alone for you for years, waited for you to come home from God knows where, never knowing if you were alive or dead. I waited for you to rescue me from those bastards. And I waited all during high school for your postcards," she held up the one in her hand, "letting me know that you were still breathing, and that there was maybe a chance, just maybe, that the only family I ever had and loved wanted to see me." She ripped the postcard in half. "No Dad, no more waiting. I'm finished being alone. I deserve better, I just never knew it before."

"He's going to hurt you Grace. I really don't know if there are any princes on white horses out there waiting to sweep you off your feet, but Gabriel is definitely not one. This can only end poorly, and I won't come and clean up your mess anymore."

"I wouldn't expect you to waste your time." They stared at each other for a while before Grace stuffed the postcard halves into her pocket. "I love you Dad, so much," was all she could say before nearly running for the stairs.

Grace went straight home, threw her keys into the bowl hard and sniffed the air. Something was burning. "Gabe? Where are you? I need to…"

She entered the kitchen, and discovered its surfaces splattered with egg, flour, sugar, and several other unidentifiable cooking supplies. Gabriel was sitting on the floor, a bloody hand crudely bandaged with a towel. "I tried baking you a cake." She sat down next to him. "From scratch. Had these instructions, followed them. But I burned the first layer. And I got mad at myself chopping apples for the top. I was trying to make them the same size, perfect. I wasn't paying attention and cut my hand. Threw the knife over there."

But he hadn't just tossed it across the counter. The blade was lodged in a cabinet securely, a little trickle of blood emerging from the crack it created. Grace stared at the knife for a second too long before turning back to her boyfriend. "Let me see that hand." She unwrapped the towel carefully. "You didn't need to bake me a cake."

"I wanted to."

The gash on his hand was long and deep, running fresh when the pressure of the towel was released. "I think you're going to need stitches." He stared at the hand fascinated. "Doesn't it hurt?"

A drop of blood fell off one palm, and he caught it in the other. "No."

She stared at him with some uncertainty. "Come on; let's go to the emergency room. I'll even hold your good hand."

He grinned, "I'd like that."

XXXXXXXXXX

"I thought you said we had left over Chinese food." Gabriel buried in a book, ignored Grace's complaints as they emanated from inside of the refrigerator. "Gabe, did you eat it last night or something?"

"Huh?"

Grace shut the door with her hip. "I was just saying how I was leaving you for a boyfriend who doesn't eat my left over lo mien."

"That's nice."

She sauntered over and bent over Gabe shoulder to read what he had in his hand. "What are you reading about anyway?"

"The Aztecs."

"You mean the ancient South American tribe."

"See all that home schooling did you some good."

Grace curled up on the couch next to him, putting her head on his shoulder. He kissed her hair distractedly. "So what's so interesting about the Aztecs?"

"They sacrificed and ate human hearts sometimes."

"See, I probably would have ordered the lo mien."

"It's fascinating."

"Seems pretty gross to me."

"No, no, in many ways the logic is brilliant. Look," he shifted the book to a more comfortable spot between them, jabbing a finger at grainy pictures of wall paintings. "The Aztecs believed that in order to show true devotion and strength they needed to cut out the still beating heart."

"Do you think that's more of a catsup or BBQ dish?" Gabe gave her a pained look. "What, I'm on a roll tonight."

"I'm serious here."

"Fine then."

"Think about it. These people had no real clue how the human body works, right. No idea, biologically speaking. Yet when they had to decide what part of the body that would logically give them their strength, they picked the heart. And the heart does that right? It keeps us moving, and controls our blood, our life flow. And they just knew it. They just did. It's amazing."

"They had it wrong."

"What?"

"Gabriel, the heart doesn't control the body. The brain does. That's what sends out the orders. Your heart is as much a follower as your lungs or liver. If they wanted the good stuff, they needed to crack some heads open."

He considered this for a moment. "I suppose you're right. But the idea is still brilliant."

Gabriel's eyes studied the page with stunning concentration. Grace put her head in one hand and watched him for a minute. She rubbed his hair gently, "hey."

"Hmmm."

"What's been going on with you lately?"

"Hmmm."

She touched his face, turning it to look at her, stroking his cheek gently. "What's going on? Where are you going?"

"I'm right here."

"No." she traced his eyebrow. "You've been going inside your head. Again. Have you been thinking about your father?" He turned away from her, shut the book and stared at the cover. "Gabe…"

"What do you know about genetics?"

"Not much. Why?"

"I've been reading about it. Thinking about it. I know how it works. It's very… ordered. It makes sense. I like that." Gabriel looked at his hands, studied the crevices under the lamplight. "My hands look like his, maybe that's why I'm so good at what I do." He looked at Grace and smiled sadly. "It's silly, what I've been thinking about. You'll laugh."

"Tell me."

He sighed, and the voice he mustered was barely above a whisper. "Do you think we're all destined to become our parents?"

"I don't know. I hope not."

"I feel like I'm becoming him, slowly. Like atoms being stripped from my skin when I'm not looking. I don't need to eat his heart. It's already growing inside of me. A watchmaker's son becomes a watchmaker. How predictable." He looked at her with desperate eyes. "Do you know what I mean?"

"Yes. But we can be more than our pasts, more than our genes. We have to be."

"I want to be more, to be something."

"I know."

A single tear ran down her face, and Gabriel wiped it away. "Why are you crying?"

"I can't…I can't be like him."

He kept whipping her tears. "Shhh, shhh, it's alright."

"No, you don't understand."

"Then make me understand."

"I can't… you won't... you're going to leave me behind."

"No Grace."

"All you talk about lately is how you want to be better, and stronger, and faster. Do you know what I want Gabriel? All that I've ever wanted is a quiet home, one home, where I never have to move from again."

"I want that too."

She waved his comment off with flick of the wrist. "And here you are, talking about bigger and better things, and I…One day, you're going to have to choose, between that voice in your head telling you there's more and me. And I don't win that battle. I never do. I just get left behind."

"I love you Gracie."

"Yeah, but is that enough to keep you here?"

They stared at each other for a minute before Grace began to cry out loud at his lack of answer. Her chest heaved convulsively, and she put her head in her hands. "Just go."

"No."

"Leave."

"No. Look at me." He grabbed her wrists maybe a little too tightly so she turned her head. "I'm not him. I don't know what your father did, but I'm not him. Trust me, I'll make it different, I'll make it better. Here," he took one hand and placed it on his chest, "feel my heart. Feel it and tell me I'm lying."

Grace's eyes fluttered shut, and Peter could tell from his vantage point in a chair across the room that Grace was feeding off Gabriel's memories. "I believe you."

Gabriel sighed and pulled Grace to him. They lay on the couch, her head on his chest, one hand next to his heart. He kept one arm wrapped around her body, the other's hand stroked her hair gently, his face slightly buried in her locks. "I love you so much. And I swear that I will protect you from everything that's hurt you before. I promise."

Though Grace could not see it, Gabriel's features during those words had taken on both the soft look of love and something else that Peter couldn't quite place immediately. He had seen the look before. What was it? Determination, he decided.

For the first time since he had ever stepped foot in Grace's memories, Peter felt overwhelmed with a sense of worry. And it turned his stomach to think that he would have to watch the rest of the tragedy play out, and be able to do nothing.

_To Be Continued…_

_Next: Gabriel and Grace, Part 2: All Falls Down_


	14. Chapter 14

Sorry about the long pause between updates

_Sorry about the long pause between updates. Maybe when the school year ends in a few more weeks I can be more consistent. I'm really trying here people!_

_Enjoy!_

XXXXXXXXXX

"I thought we'd do something different for lunch today."

Gabriel didn't look up from his work. "I could really just go for a sandwich."

"I'm tired of eating subs in here every day. I want to try something else. It's not like you're busy today or anything."

He sighed and looked up. "What did you have in mind?"

She smiled and stuck out a hand. "Come on, I'll show you." They walked down the street and around a corner, fingers laced together. "See, a new restaurant in our neighborhood and you didn't even notice."

Gabriel was indignant. "I noticed. I just didn't want to come eat here."

"What's so wrong with pizza? You eat it whenever I order take out?"

He shook their joined palms. "Maybe I just like spending time alone with you."

Grace smiled and planted a kiss on his cheek. "That's very sweet. But if I have to eat a sandwich in your shop every day, insanity will eventually set in. Not good." 

"Pizza it is then."

The door gave a small ding when they entered. The shop was small, but it's warm furniture and mirrors made it feel cozy. There weren't many guests at the tables, and Gabriel and Grace sat down near the back. Peter stood near them, undisturbed that the mirror above their heads lacked his reflection. He'd been in Grace's memories for a long time now, though he knew that it was still only one night, with Grace wrapped protectively in his arms. The differences between the Grace here and the Grace he knew were subtle. Sure they looked almost identical, as the events here took place no more than two years ago. But the general happiness that the Grace he saw sitting here possessed had been stripped away. He'd seen it immerge here and there, but it wasn't the same. Grace had always talked about things ending, that nothing could be counted on. Maybe that was what was happening.

The service was prompt and the food must have been excellent since it disappeared so quickly. They ordered dessert, and instead of their young waiter returning, a man in his early thirties placed the bowl on the table. "Ice cream for two?"

Gabriel took the bowl gratefully. "Thanks."

"Not a problem. If you don't mind me asking, how was the service? The food?"

"What, do you own the place?" Grace gave him a kick under the table.

"Well actually, yes, I do."

Grace indicated a nearby chair. "Please, sit down."

"Thanks, I've been on my feet all day. Do you know how hard it is to start a business?"

Gabriel seemed indignant. "Actually, I own one."

"Get out of here. Is it nearby?"

Gabriel winced, as though the man should have already known. "Yeah, yeah, just down the street. A watch shop."

"You know, I think I've seen that before." The owner patted him on the arm. "It's nice when one local business owner comes out to support another."

Gabriel smiled, but Peter could see the animosity behind it. "It sure is."

"John?" A woman sidled up to the table, a small child on her hip. "The delivery truck is here. Would you go sign?"

"Sure, sure. Be right back." The man got up and rushed to the bar.

"My husband and I are very proud of this place. Did you enjoy your meal?" The woman asked, shifting her squirming baby around.

"We did. Are." Grace smiled and touched the baby's head. "What's his name?"

"Her name is Angie. Do you want to hold her?"

"Um, I don't know…"

The baby reached out toward Grace, her little fingers grasping. "She likes you." A phone wrung. "Just for a minute?"

"OK."

"Great." The woman shifted the child down and left.

The baby lolled in Grace's lap a bit, turning her small head toward Grace. "Hello Angie. I'll try not to drop you."

Gabriel laughed, "Yeah, let's try not to do that."

"I don't…" Angie grabbed her hair, "I haven't had much time with babies. Kinda a foreign species here."

"You're doing fine." The baby laughed and smiled, turning to play with the silverware on the table. Gabriel watched the pair for a minute, Grace's slender hands rubbing the child's back in small circles. "I'm going to get you that ring some day you know."

"No hurry. I already said yes."

"I love you."

"Alright then, sorry about that. How was my little girl?" John and his wife returned to the table, the woman sweeping up her child to hold close to her face. The little girl reached out to her father, who took her happily, spinning her around. "Thank you, thank you for watching her."

"Our pleasure."

Gabriel smiled a bit and said in a rather uncharacteristically peaceful tone, "You are a lucky man, Mr.…"

"Turner. And this is my wife, Anna."

"You are lucky, Mr. Turner."

"Yes, I know I am." Grace and Gabriel stood up. "I hope that I will see you again."

Gabriel shook his hand. "You will."

"Yes, I know that we will…" Grace took John's hand, and she froze, grasping his palm firmly her eyes fixed in the distance. The three other adults looked at each other, confused and a bit uncomfortable. Suddenly, Grace dropped the hand and ran from the store.

"I, I'm sorry she must not be feeling well."

"OK. Go after her man. We'll see you later."

Gabriel ran outside. It was a beautiful day, sunny and absent of clouds. He shielded his eyes against the brightness and scanned for Grace, jogging across the street to a small park to look further. Back, hidden by a cove of leafy trees, on her knees, holding her stomach, he found her. There was a pool of vomit near her knees.

"Grace? What in the hell happened back there?" She didn't respond, and as Gabriel approached he could hear Grace babbling to herself. "Gracie?"

He touched her shoulder gently, and Grace wrenched away, scrambling until her back hit a tree, her eyes wild and glazed with fear. "Stop touching me. Please just stop touching me!"

Gabriel's eyes softened, and he couched to be closer to Grace's eye level. "OK, no more touching."

A tear ran down her face. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"What am I doing to you Gracie?"

Grace's eyes cleared and she looked Gabriel, as if realizing his presence only then, and threw up violently to the side. She whipped her mouth on the back of her hand. "We can't go back there. Ever."

Gabriel scrunched his nose. "Why? I thought the food was good, but if you threw up, then I suppose…"

"He's a bad man."

"How do you know that?"

"I recognized a tattoo."

"What tattoo?"

"On his arm."

Gabriel shook his head, "He didn't have any tattoos on his arm."

"Fine. I recognized his face."

"You're just lying now. I hate being lied to."

Grace pushed a piece of hair behind her ear, "I just know, alright. I just do."

Gabriel rose to his feet. "You just know, you just know," he said, mockingly. "You say that all the time Grace. What in the hell does it mean?"

"I can't explain it."

"No, you won't explain it." Gabriel said angrily, his fingers curled into fists. "There's a difference."

Grace stood as well, balanced against the tree. "Whatever you say."

She took a couple steps forward and faltered. Gabriel caught her instinctively and looked down at her face. "Please Grace; please tell me what's going on."

"It's difficult. Complicated."

Gabriel hugged her close. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Whatever it is, don't you think I deserve to know?"

"I don't know if you're ready to know."

"Don't you trust me?"

Grace pulled away and looked at Gabriel's face for a long time. Inside his head, Peter was screaming.

"Take me home. I'll tell you everything."

XXXXXXXXXX

They showered together, he washing her hair tenderly. Once they were in clean clothes and curled on the couch she spoke.

"I've always been different…"

She spoke about her ability to touch and glean information from objects, how it had been a gift and burden of hers since childhood. She spoke about how her parents had both had abilities and that had caused her to move around a great deal. She also maintained that both were dead.

She left out a lot of information, Peter realized.

Through it all, Gabriel's eyes were on her, barely blinking. He held her hand but it was a soulless gesture.

"I know," Grace sniffed at one point, "that this all must seem totally crazy to you."

"Actually," he brushed her face, "it all makes sense to me."

Then she talked about the abduction, leaving in little details that Peter had never been told, climbing into Gabriel's lap as the descriptions got more painful. Horrible details of inhuman things done to a girl younger than Claire. Near the end of her explanation Grace brought up a detail that Peter had forgotten almost all about.

"So one got away?"

Grace nodded into his chest. "I…I killed the two and escaped while one was gone."

"And…" Grace looked up at him, waiting while he put together the pieces. "And the man at the pizza place today…John…that was him?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

She dropped her head again. "I've never been wrong."

"So, what do we do about it?"

"I don't know. What can we do?"

Out of Grace's line of vision, Gabriel opened his mouth to say something, but reconsidered, staring at the wall with oddly dead eyes.

XXXXXXXXXX

He could hear the rustling of cloth before his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the bedroom. Someone was writhing in bed, arms and legs struggling against the covers as if afraid of being smothered.

Without warning, a loud, gut wrenching scream broke the night. Peter could see a form rise suddenly in bed as another leaned over and switched on a light. Grace was sitting there, desperately picking at the sheet tangled around her legs, trying to escape.

Gabriel rubbed his eyes, "Grace?"

She looked at him uncontrollably, and began to scratch her arm. "I hate you!"

Immediately Gabriel scooted foreword and wrapped his arms around her from the back, each leg on the outside of her own. He forcefully took her arms and held them so she couldn't hurt herself any further. "Grace," his tone was even, "Grace it's time to calm down now."

"But…"

"Shhhh, I'm not them. You know that."

"Gabe?" her voice was shaky and small.

"Shhhh, it's alright." He released her arms and wrapped them protectively around her shoulders and stomach. Grace latched one hand onto each forearm and held on fiercely. They stayed locked like this for a minute, until Grace's breathing became less raged. "Do you want to talk about it?" Grace shook her head. "Why not? Eventually you need…"

"No."

"Grace, you aren't a child. Ignoring what happened won't change what happen or make it go away."

"Why do you want to hear the details so badly?"

"I just want to help."

Grace let go of his arms and twisted around until she could see his face. "You do help. You put up with me, my strangeness."

He touched her forehead tenderly. "Uniqueness. So unique. How do you do it?"

"I've already told you about that."

"Not everything."

Grace sighed. "I don't want to talk tonight." She began to scoot forewords on the bed, callously pushing away the hand Gabriel had placed at her waist. "Maybe I should go and sleep on the couch."

He let her go a bit too long in Peter's opinion, until her painted toes were nearly on the floor. "Grace…" She looked back at him, starry eyed, his Adam's apple bottle bobbing. "Let's get some sleep." He held out a hand calmly. "Please."

She considered his fingers, but ultimately pulled herself under the covers again, leaving Gabriel to lie on his back, not touching her. Eventually, her hand reached across the desert between them, and he shut off the light.

XXXXXXXXXX

She stared at the wall, unblinking. There was a book in her lap, but she had not turned the page in hours. In fact the only movement she'd made was to turn on a small side lamp and pull a blanket over her legs against a chill fall evening. There was a small band on her finger, a diamond glittering in the middle, which she began to play with absently as the clock turned into the 2 am hour.

Grace didn't jump at the opening and shutting of the door, barely turning her head to say "Where were you?"

Gabriel shook off his shoes in the entryway and ran a hand through his hair. "At the shop, like I said I was."

"Liar."

He was taken aback. "Excuse me."

"I know where you were."

He came to stand in front of her, "Enlighten me then."

"It's the same place you were at on Tuesday."

Gabriel came a little closer, blocking her exit by positioning his body between the couch and coffee table. "Have you been in my memories again? I don't like that."

"I've told you, I can't control this all the time."

Gabriel sighed and flopped himself into a chair, rocking slowly as he looked at the shadows on the ceiling. "Do you know what he talked about?" Grace's jaw tightened, but she said nothing. "We were having a beer, and this guy just keeps going and going on about how people can change. The miracle of growth and rebirth. 'When I was younger,' he said to me, 'when I was younger I did a lot of stupid stuff, stuff I regret, like you wouldn't believe. I hurt a lot of people man.'" Gabriel leaned forward in the chair to look at Grace. "He's talking about you."

"I know."

"It makes me sick."

"Gabriel…"

"No."

"Look, you know how I feel about this. How angry I am, how confused. But I told you my decision, and it's final. Whatever he did is in the past. He has a new life now. A business and a family. It's not my place to take that away. People can change."

"No Grace, no. People don't change. They adapt with what they have, but the bad is still there."

"But not used."

"Not for long."

Grace shook her head. "I won't take that little girl's father away."

"Don't let your daddy issues hamper your safety."

She put hand on her chest. "My safety? How in the hell do you think he's going to recognize me? He doesn't know me from Adam. Besides, the statutes of limitations must have run out long ago."

Gabriel leaned forward, laced hands resting on his knees. "What about the other people who could potentially be hurt by this guy. What about them?"

"Potential Gabriel, potential."

"Some people don't deserve potential or the privilege that comes with it." The comment was short and low, but it carried a gravity that chilled the room.

Grace tried to evoke a light tone, but her voice faltered. "In the end Gabriel, there's nothing we can do. Nothing legal at least, and I won't have you going off and doing something that's half cocked and completely stupid."

"I just want to protect you."

"You are."

"It's not enough."

"You aren't Superman."

"I…" he locked her in a steely gaze, and Grace looked back confused. "I'm going to bed. You coming?"

"Yeah, in a minute."

He nodded and walked off. But Grace stayed in the now cold livingroom much longer than a minute, staring out the window, turning the engagement ring on her finger. After the bedroom light had been turned off for a while, she spoke quietly.

"I hope you're not right dad, I really do."

XXXXXXXXXX

Peter could smell smoke through the open window before Grace awoke from the sirens. She sat up in bed and listened for a minute before turning and saying, "Gabe do you hear…"

But he wasn't there.

Grace swore under her breath, scrambling to pull on shoes and a sweatshirt. She jogged down the street, past the darkened shops, shielding her eyes at the blaze that was erupting from a husk of the pizza parlor. There were fire trucks desperately trying to subdue, but the damage was done.

"You. Grace." Grace scanned the line of people behind the police ropes for the source of her name. There, barely contained by a police officer she recognized the woman from the restaurant and trotted over. "You're Grace right, Gabe's fiancé?"

"Yes." Grace stared at the baby in the woman's arms. She was screaming and crying, but her mother seemed oblivious at the moment.

"Have you seen my husband?" Grace shook her head. "Because he was supposed to close up. He called and…and he said that he was going to have one more drink with Gabe…and I just can't find him here…I…I went home and he's not there…he's not."

But Grace wasn't looking at her anymore. Her eyes were trained in the crowd, a single man watching the building burn and burn.

So she ran, fleet footed and without breathing through the hollow streets, and up the empty stairs back to the apartment. She packed quickly, into an already started bag Peter recognized from the floor beside the bed they slept in now. Grace only stopped for a moment to let a sob escape into the chill darkness. But she dug her fingernails into her hands as if to remind herself that there was no time. No time.

Next Grace let herself into the antique dealership where she worked. Or more correctly, she broke in with high precision, another evidence of her genetic heritage and fatherly love. Back on the top floor, next to a long stair case, Grace stood on tip toes and knocked down a small box, opening it expectantly. But nothing was inside.

"Looking for this?" Grace cringed and looked up. There was Gabriel, looking more like Sylar now, standing a few feet away, a sizable wad of cash in one hand. "I wasn't expecting to find this much. Or at least hoping I wouldn't. Because this much money," he threw the paper at her, and Grace tucked her bag closer to her body, "this much money means that you have been planning for a while doesn't it."

"Let me go Gabriel. Let this end."

Gabriel took a step closer to Grace, and Peter step instinctively between the two. "But I have let it end, Grace."

"What?"

He looked at her like she was a confused child. "You're past. That pain, it's gone now. I made it right. Made it better."

"Make it better! How can you say that! Or think that! Did you see his wife and child? Did you? How are things better for them? Huh?"

He took another step, straight through Peter. "I had to, for you."

Grace squeezed her eyes shut. "Was he even still alive when the place burned down?"

"I had to be sure he wouldn't bother you again. I can take care of you Grace. I love you."

Grace shuddered and opened her eyes. "Leave me alone."

"What?"

"Let me go, and don't come looking for me. Pretend I never existed."

"I can't do that."

"I won't go to the cops, tell anyone about this. But please just let me be."

"How long Grace," he was dangerously close to her now, "how long have you been planning to leave me?"

"Not long."

He pinned her against the wall and whispered in her ear. "So many secrets you keep hidden in there," Gabriel traced from her hair down to her cheek. "Just tell me this and I'll let you go."

Grace squeezed her eyes shut for a moment of fear, then opened them with steely resolve. "There is something dead inside of you. I've known it all along." In a flash, Gabriel choked Grace against the wall, but she didn't stop talking. "But the stench from all that's rotting inside of you. It's too much for me to smell now."

He cocked his head to the side. "You bitch."

"I never loved you."

It was a cheap shot, but it distracted Gabriel enough for Grace to knee him sharply in the side. He dropped her, and she scampered to the top of the stairs before he caught her. "Love?" He taunted, backing Grace to the edge of the top most step with a hand on her forearm. "Love isn't about feelings or emotions. It's about power." With a single swipe he backhanded Grace, sending her tumbling down the stairs. From the bottom she looked up at him with a bloody lip and cradled broken arm. "And you my dear, for all the strength you demonstrate," Gabriel cooed deliciously slow as he sauntered down a few steps, "just adore having someone else take care of you. Don't you? A little domination? Maybe I should have tied you up when we fu…"

Thankfully Gabriel's speech was cut off by a timely fall through the floor. A step had given out, under Grace's urging, and Gabriel had whipped out onto a table on the floor beneath. Still curled at the bottom of the staircase, an arm outstretched, Grace threw up blood, but eventually managed to get to her feet and limp from the store. She paused on the sidewalk, the headlights of the cars catching the sweat and blood on her face, illuminating the strain it took for her to hold her bag.

There was a crunch behind her, and Grace whipped around, to see Gabriel outlined in the window, a deep gash punctuating his brow. He took a single step forward and the pane of glass in front of him blew out, forcing Gabriel to cover his face. Peter also heard a definite crack as Grace double over in pain and her breathing became ragged. A rib or two had probably snapped, maybe punctured a lung, he guessed.

Grace watched with horror as Gabriel immerged from the rubble and stood propped up in the doorway. "Come home with me Grace." He held out a hand. "Come home with me right now, and we can forget about tonight."

Grace turned and looked up the street. A single car was rattling their way. "No. You aren't good enough for me."

"Fine," Gabriel said flatly. "Be alone in hell for all I care." Suddenly Gabriel lurched forward, a knife in his hand.

Grace gave him one last look before stepping into the path of the oncoming car. The vehicle slammed on its brakes, but it still hit Grace with some force, knocking the young woman back several feet. Almost immediately a man leapt from the vehicle and crouched next to Grace, demanding "What in the hell did you do that for?"

"Please…" Grace sputtered, turning her head to indicate the almost irradiated antiques store "please don't let him kill me in my sleep."

The man looked up, and to his astonishment Peter recognized Noah Bennett. They both looked back at the shop in slight horror.

But no one was there.

XXXXXXXXXX

Peter let his eyes stay closed even after he was awake the next morning, giving his brain time to adjust to all the new information. He didn't want to wake Grace if she was still asleep. And, if he was being honest, he didn't quite know what to say to her anyway. Hadn't he almost begged to learn more about her past, more about Sylar? Yes, he had and now…well…

Grace was right. Just the knowledge didn't make anything better.

Reluctantly, Peter opened his eyes and looked around the room only to perceive that he was in fact alone. Panicked, he jumped from bed in the full sunlight and searched the room. Her bag was absent as well.

Grace was gone.

_To Be Continued…_

_Next Time…What does Mr. Bennett know? How will Grace come home?_


End file.
